


Like a bullet to my chest

by Saetha



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: (mostly from Clootie and Lou bc they are both assholes), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Cryptid Husbands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, ROBERT SVANE JUST NEEDS A DAMN BREAK, Sex, Smoking, Wyatt was an asshole, and by its working title, but somehow through everything they grow closer together, past Doc/Wyatt, past Robert/Wyatt, they make alliances and break them, this fic is also know as:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: “You shot me,” Robert hissed. Getting shot at was certainly something he’d had enough of for the rest of his strange existence.“I was not going to kill you!” Doc defended himself.“Right. Because shooting someone just slightly is not a problem.” Robert was still seething. “I freed you. Do whatever you want with this newly found liberty of yours, I do not care. Except,” he took a step towards Doc, feeling his voice deepen into a growl, “do not ever attempt to shoot me again.”“Right.” Doc raised his hands in a mock surrender that had absolutely nothing to do with acknowledging any sort of wrongdoing on his part.*What if Robert Svane had returned to the well, right after he first woke up again? What if he had freed Doc Holliday? There are already the matters of figuring out how to break the curse, how to deal with a witch, and how to deal with the other revenants, And now it's all complicated further by an insolent immortal gunslinger who just cannot seem to leave Robert alone.
Relationships: Doc Holliday/Bobo Del Rey | Robert Svane
Comments: 28
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on writing this darling for a while and I'm so glad I can finally begin to throw it online. Credit for the original idea goes to Card and Tessa, thank you so much for letting me play in that sandbox you two invented :> .

Robert Svane woke up in a church.

The echo of a scream was still lodged in his throat and his back was burning, filled with liquid fire along the seam they had used to break him open. His fingers scrabbled on the wooden floor, blindly looking for purchase in the wild thoughts to get away, to escape, to be _safe_ from the pain for just one second, even if it never worked. His sight was blurry until, in his panic, his hand knocked against something seated on his face and it abruptly cleared.

His hands bumped against a wooden structure, the pain sharp and immediate, ripping through the echo of agony in his body. Robert took a breath, his lungs filling with dust and stale air rather than the fire-and-brimstone smell of hell itself. He closed his eyes and breathed in again, this time slowly and deliberately.

He was back.

Robert rolled onto his back and for a while he did nothing but lay there, staring at the church’s wooden ceiling and feeling every single inch of his body. Each one of his muscles seemed to be tied into knots and he was aching down to the marrow of his bones. A sharp line of pain was still snaking down his back, but it didn’t get _worse_ when he finally moved, and that was all that mattered. He lifted his hand up in front of his face to stare at it, noting with faint surprise that no scars seemed to remain, no traces of what hell had done to him except a slight tremor in his fingers that just wouldn’t disappear.

He was still wearing the same suit he’d died in, right down to the bloodied bullet hole in front. His glasses lay on the floor where he had knocked them off earlier, but it seemed like they were no longer required.

“Robert Svane?” The church door opened, letting in the light of the day outside. It silhouetted the figure walking towards him, shadowing all of its features.

“Who are you?” Robert almost didn’t recognise the sound of his own voice, raspy from screaming as it was.

“A friend.” A hand grabbed his arm, carefully helping him up to his feet. Robert could feel tremors running through his entire body. The man’s touch was like fire on his skin and he wrenched himself free from his grip as soon as he could stand. A touch never meant anything good. Just pain.

“Sit down.” Robert did as he was told. He was still trying to adjust to the novelty of his environment when he finally recognised the man.

“Father Juan Carlo?” But no, it couldn’t be. It felt like he had spent centuries in hell, and the man in front of him looked exactly the same as he had when Robert had died. “How-“

“Wyatt Earp is dead.” There was a flash of something passing through the man’s (Juan’s?) eyes, a mixture of both pity and shame.

Robert had expected a pang of loss at the words inside his chest, but instead, they only filled him with an odd sort of emptiness. A not so small part of him hoped that Wyatt had taken his place in hell now, was being taken apart and put back together over and over again. When he said nothing, the man spoke again.

“After forty-two years, the curse is being fulfilled. You should make sure that his heir doesn’t find you anytime soon.” With those words, the man dropped a pile of clothing and a small bag in his lap.

Robert was still processing the words when the man turned around to leave.

“Father Juan Carlo,” he rasped, this time with more conviction. He had just returned from death; an immortal clergyman was well within the realm of possibility. “Why didn’t you help?” It had been a long two days of dying for him and he’d seen men survive wounds like his before, once they’d received the right care and help.

Juan Carlo stopped in his tracks. When he looked around at Robert again, grief was clouding his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Robert,” he said softly. “I wasn’t allowed.”

“You-“ Anger surged through Robert, bright and hot as never before, cutting off every attempt at speaking. Pain lanced up his back at the emotion, robbing him of breath. When he could see clearly again, Juan Carlo was gone. Robert looked down at the bundle in his lap, discovering some food and drink, money, and a new set of clothes. He sank back onto the bench he was sitting on, taking another breath.

He would eat, and drink, and get dressed. And then he had somebody to find.

*

Robert’s fingers were still shaking when he put his hands on the edge of the well. He couldn’t see all the way to the bottom with the light of the setting sun painting long shadows on the ground.

“Hello?” he asked. There was no reply.

“Doc Holliday!” he called out, even louder than before. This time, he thought he could hear some rustling. “I brought a rope.”

Robert didn’t even wait for an answer before he grabbed the old rope that he had found in the church and secured it on a nearby rock, hoping that it was strong enough to hold a person. (In another time, he would have said a quick prayer, but what use were prayers to a man bound to hell?)

He had begun to think that there was nobody at the bottom after all, that Holliday must’ve either died or escaped, until there was a sudden tug at the other end of the rope.

When Doc Holliday emerged, he looked like a man who had lived through his worst nightmare many times over and still wasn’t sure whether he had truly reached the end of it. He was deathly pale, deep hollows under his eyes and his fingers shaking as he pulled a gun out of the holster on his hips and levelled it at Robert.

“ _You_ ,” he spat. “I remember your voice. You were the one who left me in this god forsaken well.”

Robert wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do. The old him would have raised his hands in a gesture of defeat and caution, desperate to not seem like a thread. But the fire inside him was still howling, that burning anger that hell had filled his veins with. He had been pushed around enough by Doc Holliday during his first lifetime.

“Yes,” he said. Doc sneered in response, cocking his gun. The glint in his eyes was more than just anger, still filled with lingering panic. Robert raised his chin. The gun in Doc’s hands was an almost physical presence in his mind, real and heavy, as if he’d been holding it in his own hands. He almost had an inkling that if he _pulled_ -

“Then this is payback.” Doc fired his gun in the same breath as he said the words. Robert bellowed in rage and pain as the bullet altered its course and grazed his arm.

Doc took a step back and frowned. “How-“

Before he could finish the sentence, Robert had stepped forward and slapped him across the face. Doc raised his gun in response, but this time, Robert was prepared. He wasn’t quite sure whether it was the strange new energy he felt coiled up around him, or simply sheer anger that fuelled his movements, but moments later the gun was on the ground and Doc cursing and holding his wrist. His back felt once more like it was on fire.

“Stop!” Robert yelled.

“What,” Doc took a deep breath, staring at Robert as if he had just grown horns and demon wings. “…on this gracious earth is going on?”

“You _shot_ me,” Robert hissed. Getting shot at was certainly something he’d had enough of for the rest of his strange existence. He ran his hand through the blood seeping through his sleeve, noting that it was brown rather than red. The sight made something inside him break. _Demon_ , a voice in his head whispered. _Abomination_.

“I was _not_ going to kill you!” Doc defended himself.

“Right. Because shooting someone just _slightly_ is not a problem.” Robert was still seething. “I freed you. Do whatever you want with this newly found liberty of yours, I do not care. Except,” he took a step towards Doc, feeling his voice deepen into a growl, “do not _ever_ attempt to shoot me again.”

“Right.” Doc raised his hands in a mock surrender that had absolutely nothing to do with acknowledging any sort of wrongdoing on his part. Robert nodded and turned to leave. He needed some quiet, somewhere to sit down and reconcile the person he had been with the person that hell had turned him into. He needed to just breathe for a while.

“Why did you come back?” Doc called after him. Robert paused in his steps, taking a moment before he turned back around.

“Because forty years is a long time, whether it is spent in hell or at the bottom of a well.”

Doc was quiet for a moment as he processed this new piece of information.

“Forty years,” he said at last. “Is Wyatt-“

“Wyatt Earp is dead.” Robert didn’t wait to see what sort of emotions would be flickering over Doc’s face, but simply kept walking.

*

Robert could feel that something was wrong long before he crossed the invisible line. He’d walked into Purgatory, trying to cope with the onslaught of so many new things at once. It hadn’t taken long for him to get overwhelmed, however, and, after taking a room at what seemed like a modernised version of what he had known as inns, decided to leave the town as fast as he could.

To his relief, horses didn’t seem to be completely out of fashion yet, despite the number of new vehicles he saw lining the streets. Juan Carlo, perhaps motivated by bad conscience, had given him enough money to buy one, and Robert set out towards the north of Purgatory, fuelled solely by the desire to get away and _think_.

His horse seemed to feel the strangeness reverberating through him before he did. It slowed down, neighing anxiously and throwing its head back, until Robert dismounted. He tied the reins to a nearby tree before continuing on foot. It wasn’t long until he felt a pulling inside his stomach and an almost overwhelming desire to turn around and walk the other way. Robert gritted his teeth and continued. He only made it two more steps before the pulling became a piercing pain stabbing through him, at the same time as his back seemed to erupt in fire again. It _hurt_ , almost as bad as the fires of hell had, and he doubled over, a scream escaping his lips.

 _Back, he had to go back_. It was the only thought that remained in his mind, pulsating with desperate urgency behind his eyes. Robert reached out, his hand turning the snow beneath his palms to steam as he crawled back towards his horse. He didn’t even notice at first when the pain slowly began to lessen, only taking note of the blessed cold beneath his cheek when he curled up on the snow, concentrating on taking one breath after another.

 _Maybe this is just another round of torture_ , the voice inside his head whispered. _Maybe you never woke up from hell and the howling of the wind is just the laughter of demons_. He whimpered and curled up more tightly, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart as the agony slowly drained out of his body. He didn’t even hear the footsteps coming closer until a pair of boots broke through the snow in front of him.

“Robert Svane.” There was none of Juan Carlo’s grief and empathy in the voice. Instead it was all crystal, full of sharp edges that could cut you if you didn’t take care. He recognised it only all too well.

“Constance Clootie,” he pressed out between his teeth. “Have you come to delight in my suffering again?”

“As much as your continued pathetic struggle against your fate delights me, I am not here to gloat.” She hunkered down, so close that Robert could have touched her had he been able to move again. “I came here to remind you of our bargain.”

“I will not take Doc Holliday’s ring,” Robert said. He doubted that Doc would part with it willingly, especially now that he was out.

“I know.” Clootie’s smile had no mirth in it. “Remarkable, really. I would not have thought that you would return and free him from the well.” She stood up again, her eyes narrowing in anger as she lifted one of her feet and planted her boot’s heel squarely on Robert’s throat. “You’ve ruined my amusement with John Henry, Robert, and I won’t soon forget it.”

Robert tried to reply, but he was struggling to get a word out, the pain once again spreading through his body like a simmering fire.

“However,” the pressure lessened just a bit, “the seal is not what I am after and it would be quite worthless to you now as well. No magic ring could change you back into a human. No.” She bent down. “I want my _sons_ , Robert. Dig them up, and I will show you a way out of this prison of yours.”

“Prison?” Robert looked back at the spot where he had fallen down earlier.

“Oh, yes.” The witch removed her boot and placed a hand on Robert’s chest instead, fingers splayed wide open. “Didn’t you realise? The Ghost River Triangle. You are trapped in here forever, _revenant_.”

Revenant. It made something inside him coil and shudder. Revenant. Demon. _Monster_. Constance seemed to note the anguish of his thoughts and smiled again.

“That is, of course, unless I give you the means by which you can break the curse yourself. Bring me back my boys, Robert, and the answer will be yours. I don’t care what you need to do to achieve it, I don’t care how long it takes. Just bring them to me.”

She moved away, the fading pressure from her fingers like a brand on his skin.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” The witch pulled a letter from her coat and threw it him. “Wyatt left this for you. I took the freedom of liberating it from its original waiting place and delivering it. It should answer any other questions you might have.”

She turned around, her coat swishing softly on the snow, and left him lying in the snow. Robert drew in a deep breath and then another, carefully listening for any remnants of pain in his body. The agony from earlier had faded to a dull ache that seemed to suffuse his limbs. He sat up, grabbing the letter from where it had fallen on his chest, and stumbled to the next closest tree with a patch of dry forest floor next to its trunk. The wood was reassuringly heavy and stable against his back, even as the harsh structure of the bark dug into his skin.

For a long moment he simply looked at the pieces of paper between his fingers, the lettering of his name on the front in Wyatt’s hand. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Wyatt sitting down, pen in hand, frowning over the pages. Wyatt’d had the same boldness as his handwriting – always direct about what he wanted, and assuming that everyone would automatically share his desires. The letters were as rough as his touch had been, with the occasional elegant flourish that could make a man believe he truly _cared_.

 _Dear Robert_ , the beginning read. _You have been dead for many years now, caught in hell. It has occurred to me that I should, perhaps, apologise…_

It was all that Robert could do in the end not to scream. He balled the paper up in his hands, Wyatt’s words burnt into his mind. He had laid out the curse so neatly, in such clear and easy words as if it didn’t affect him at all. And in a way it probably didn’t, Robert mused. Wyatt was dead now, after all. He would never have to live with the pain of being a revenant – or one of his heirs, for that matter. No, he’d caused the mess they were in and had left them behind to deal with it, seemingly without a second thought.

Robert growled.

“A true demon.”

Robert’s head whipped up, gaze caught by one Doc Holliday leaning against the tree next to him.

“You,” was all he managed to rasp. Doc only nodded at the letter in response.

“Back for a few hours and already receiving letters from the ladies? I am surprised.”

Robert growled again, gripping the paper in his hands more tightly. He had no desire to share his history with Wyatt with anyone, least of all Doc Holliday himself. Doc didn’t seem inclined to leave, however, only leaning against the tree and watching him with an all-too-keen gaze. Robert sighed.

“What,” he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “are you doing here?”

“Well, I _was_ searching for the witch and had heard that she had been coming this way.” Doc rolled a cigarillo between his fingers with a thoughtful glance. “I did not consider that I would be finding you here, instead.”

“Since you did not find what you came for, you can as well leave,” Robert told him.

“Ah, but you do seem to know more about the witch than you told me.” Doc gestured at the bootprints in the snow, so clearly different from those belonging to Robert’s shoes.

Instead of replying, Robert reached up and unconsciously rubbed his throat where the mark from Clootie’s heeled boots still had to be showing. He had no desire to share any information with Doc Holliday.

“From your expression I can tell that the encounter was not entirely amicable.” Doc’s eyes roved across his face, homing in on his throat.

“Any time spent with Constance Clootie rarely is,” Robert confirmed.

“It appears that we share at least one common enemy.” Doc took another drag from his cigarillo. He looked far less wild and bedraggled than he had when Robert had pulled him out of the well, although there was still an echo of his earlier panic in his eyes. At least he had apparently found some water and a new set of clothes somewhere. He seemed to have adapted effortlessly to the current style of clothing, and even Robert could not deny the way the clothes fit him, emphasising the leanness of his figure.

“It seems that way,” Robert agreed, wary of where this conversation would lead.

“Perhaps a truce is in order then,” Doc offered. “You will assist me in hunting down the witch. After we dispose of her, we are both free to go wherever we wish.”

Robert was too late to hold back the bitter laugh escaping his throat.

“You could, perhaps. I need information from her. I need to know how to _escape_.”

“Escape?” Doc frowned. Robert sighed, weariness suffusing his bones. For a moment he contemplated simply handing Wyatt’s letter over to Doc to save himself the effort of having to explain it all. However, there was something too private about the letter, bits and pieces of him being shared inside it that he certainly didn’t want someone like Doc Holliday to know about. He closed his eyes and opened them again, to find Doc staring at him with curiosity in his gaze.

“This,” he made a grand gesture indicating the wider area around them, “is called the Ghost River Triangle.” He explained everything as well as he was able – Clootie’s curse, the revenants, Constance’s sons, and the grim fate that awaited him and everyone else who had died thanks to Wyatt Earp. Doc was gracious enough not to interrupt him. He listened attentively, although his frown deepened with every new fact that Robert was telling him.

“Well,” he finally said when Robert was finished. “I must admit, I had not expected events of such magnitude to have transpired.”

Robert said nothing in response, waiting for Doc to work through to whichever thoughts he truly wanted to give voice to.

“How did you find your end by Peacemaker’s bullets then? I want to know who I am working with, especially since you seem to know so much more about me than I do about you.”

Robert snorted.

“The great Doc Holiday, unexpectedly discovering his conscience.” He shifted slightly, an echo of the pain from the old bullet wound on his shoulder running through him again. “You can rest assured, none of my main past times involved the death of others. I got in the way when I shouldn’t have.” He would be damned if he revealed any more information.

Something entered Doc’s eyes that Robert wasn’t quite sure how to interpret.

“Good,” Doc nodded. “It is decided then. We find the witch, we interrogate her, and then I get to kill her.” It sounded so simple as Doc said it. Except, Robert knew that nothing was every easy where anyone with the name ‘Clootie’ was concerned.

“It will take time,” he said cautiously. “She is powerful and has only become more so in the forty years since her husband’s banishment. She won’t be easy to catch.”

Doc shrugged. A dangerous gleam had entered his eyes, one that Robert recognised. Many forgot that behind the façade of gambler and easy man, Doc Holliday was a hunter, one far less concerned with problems of conscience than Wyatt Earp had ever been.

“We will catch her.” His voice left no doubt. “It is a pact, then?” Doc held out his hand.

“A pact,” Robert agreed. Doc’s grip was warm and firm and the smallest of smiles was tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“If we do, indeed, have an agreement, then I think it would only be fair to know your name,” he suggested. Robert’s breath stuttered for a moment. There was no way of knowing whether Doc would remember the name ‘Robert Svane’ at all, but he had no desire to dredge up any of these memories just yet. Instead, he thought back to his last moments in the church, the voice of his angel as she seemed to be dying in his arms.

“Bobo,” he said. Doc swallowed a laugh at the ridiculous-sounding name, quite aware that it couldn’t be the correct one. However, he didn’t pry, at least not for now.

“Well then, _Bobo_ , pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gave Robert one last nod, touching the brim of his hat before he turned to walk away. Robert stared after him, wondering whether he would grow to regret this decision. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll be able to keep the rhythm of updating every two weeks on Wednesdays. Here, enjoy some Doc getting slammed into a wall and enjoying it far too much.

Many people had the unfortunate penchant to deny themselves the things that brought them true joy. Often, this was out of a strange desire to appear proper and lawful and keep up appearances with their fellow men. Doc Holliday had, fortunately, never suffered from this particular affliction – he loved gambling and drinking, and happily pursued it whenever he had the chance. The individuals he was currently pursuing both with had turned out to be far too easy prey, allowing him to keep an eye on the group of men in a darker corner of the room and make enough money to cover most of next month’s rent. The men had been here for hours but were finally about to move.

“Excuse me, sirs, I do believe I just saw an acquaintance of mine and will unfortunately have to bring an early end to our game.” He made sure to pick up all the chips and money he could before he left, ignoring the angry stares that were being thrown his way.

The group of revenants was out of the door when he followed, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. They weren’t hard to find; their voices were echoing down the street, shouting random obscenities at various passers-by. Doc slunk after them, but in their semi-drunken state it was almost guaranteed that they wouldn’t notice him.

He followed them away from Purgatory’s main streets, hoping against better instinct that they might finally lead him to a clue about the witch. Or perhaps he could at least catch one of them unawares and jog his memory a little. They finally arrived at a ramshackle building on the edges of the town, disappearing inside. Doc hesitated for a moment, but it didn’t look like there were any guards on the lookout that could see him approach and enter the building. 

The main door was old and rusty, and it seemed like the lock holding it closed had been broken many months ago. Doc crept through the main entrance and paused to listen. There was the muffled sound of voices coming from above, so he decided to move closer, taking one of his pistols in hand as he did so. He sneaked up the stairs until he was able to hear the voices more clearly. To his luck, the door in front of him was open ever so slightly.

He moved forward just a little more, until he could catch a glimpse of the events inside the room. There were at least six revenants (and revenants they were, of that Doc had little doubt) – the four he had followed from the bar, plus an unknown man with dark hair and beard, dressed like an uptight gentleman. And, to his surprise, Bobo, now wearing a coat with a fur-lined collar, rather ridiculous given that it was summer. The change in the man was astonishing, although it had been only six months since Doc had last seen him. The fury that Doc had noticed sparking in his eyes once or twice had turned into a low fire that seemed to suffuse Bobo’s entire being.

“So, you have no idea where it is?” The unknown man next to Bobo asked, his shoulder just shy of brushing against him. Bobo cast him a sidelong glance and moved away almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he said with a sigh. “But maybe our friends here…?”

One of the revenants that Doc had followed stepped forward, eyes glinting. There was something inside them that spoke of a barely contained wildness, like the fires of hell had burnt away all parts of what made them human.

“You were right, Bobo. We heard that Wyatt took them apart before he buried them. Rumour is, someone told him to spread their parts around the entire Ghost River Triangle so they’d be even harder to find and that’s exactly what he did.”

Bobo sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger.

“Well, that makes things slightly more complicated,” he admitted. “Any luck in finding the witch herself?”

A second revenant stepped forwards, barely less feral than the first.

“We’ve heard rumours,” he offered. “She’s been seen here or there. Someone said he saw her at the old quarry the other day, and two weeks ago she walked past the little church on the hill.”

“Two sightings.” Bobo sounded both exhausted and exasperated. “Two sightings is all you can tell me about, after over a month of searching.”

“Sorry.” The revenants didn’t look nearly as apologetic as one of them made it sound.

“You should be.” The unknown man next to Bobo stepped forward, one of his hands resting on Bobo’s arm as he did so. It seemed to take a lot of self-restraint for Bobo not to recoil at the touch.

“Lou…” His voice trailed off before he could finish the sentence.

“You should be _very sorry_ ,” Lou continued. “In fact…”

He drew an old knife from the folds in his suit as he spoke, setting it against one of the revenant’s throats with an almost gentle touch.

“I know we cannot die. But surely, we’ve all learned in hell which amounts of pain we are willing to endure. And our friend _Bobo_ here would be more than willing in assisting me in _providing_ those amounts, am I right?” He looked back at him with a smile that was nothing but teeth.

Bobo just let out breath, but his fingers began moving at the same moment that the remaining revenants pulled various guns and knives from their pockets. He closed his eyes, frowning in concentration before closing his fist, all weapons including the knife in Lou’s hand clattering to the floor. Doc felt his own pistols vibrate and slapped a hand on them before they could move. Bobo opened his eyes again and turned to look directly at the door, his gaze meeting Doc’s. There was an expression of panic and intense anger in them before he looked back at the revenants in front of him. His hand, however, made an almost invisible movement whose meaning seemed clear – _Leave_.

Doc barely had time to register his little gesture before Lou turned around, his wrath suddenly divided equally between Bobo and the revenants in front of him.

“You should leave,” Bobo said. “And bring back better information next time.” The weapons on the ground lifted and trembled slightly to accompany his words. The lead revenant’s eyes flickered from Bobo to Lou and back to Bobo before he made a gesture to his friends. Doc barely had enough time to sprint behind it before it slammed open, almost crushing him against the wall. The sound of receding footsteps told him that the group of revenants was following Bobo’s advice and leaving.

Lou snarled as soon as they had left, and Doc could hear the clatter as he picked up his knife from the floor. His next words were almost too quiet to hear.

“ _Never_ undermine me like this again, Bobo.” Doc could almost imagine the way Lou was touching him, all greed and false softness.

“I think you have the wrong impression of our partnership.” Bobo’s voice was measured and almost calm. Almost. Doc was sure that Lou could hear the undercurrent of discomfort as well as him. “You are _not_ my boss.”

It was quiet for a moment before Lou expelled a loud breath. “A _partnership_ , you say.” There was a lecherous undertone in his voice that made Doc’s skin crawl. “Well. If you are so intent on being partners, you should drop by my cabin soon.”

“Perhaps.” Somehow Bobo managed to make it sound like he wasn’t completely disgusted by the idea, a rather fine piece of acting in Doc’s opinion. Silence reigned for a moment longer before someone’s steps sounded out, this time slow and measured. Doc pressed himself against the wall, holding onto the door in front of him and hoping it would be enough to hide him. The footsteps came closer, stopping for a moment what could be no more than three feet away. Doc closed his eyes, hoping his ability to be the fastest draw in the country would be able to least buy him some time. Finally, the steps continued the other way, and down the staircase.

He had just begun breathing again when the door in front of his face was suddenly snatched away, revealing a very angry revenant. Bobo didn’t wait for Doc to even try and say anything before grabbing him by the front of his shirt. He pulled him forwards slightly before slamming him back into the wall again.

“What are you doing here?” The words were hissed rather than yelled, each one of them punctured by a little shake of Bobo’s hands. Doc did his best to formulate an answer, far too distracted by the adrenaline still rushing through his veins and the heat of Bobo so close. It made his body react in unexpected, if not entirely unwelcome ways.

“I have not heard a single word from you in six months,” he replied. “You cannot blame a man for taking matters into his own hands when he is being left on his own for so long.”

“I had it all well under control.” Bobo’s grip remained strong, but he didn’t seem quite as intent on slamming him into the wall again. A shame, really.

“That much was evident,” Doc snorted. “So, have you slept with Lou yet?”

There it was again, that anger, burning bright and hot in Bobo’s eyes and rimming them with red. Doc found himself pressed into the wall once again, with Bobo leaning in close until his face was only mere inches away.

“This is none of your concern,” he growled. “I will find out where the witch is. I do not break my word. And in return you do not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“’ _Where it doesn’t belong_ ’?” Doc scrunched up his nose. “I think you are mistaken, Bobo. This concerns me very much, just as much as you.”

“Yet, they would kill you if they found you here, spying on them. _Especially_ Lou. If you are so concerned with what is happening, I suggest you stick to safer ways of trying to contact me.”

“One might almost think that you are worried about me.” Despite everything, Doc found himself grinning at Bobo’s irate face. “Now, if you truly are serious about maintaining our arrangement, I suggest we continue this conversation in a different place.”

“And where would that be?” The intensity of Bobo’s gaze didn’t lessen a single iota.

“I rent the room above Laurie’s, the bar not far from here.” Doc let the sentence hand in the air, without voicing the rest of his suggestion out loud. Bobo thought for a moment before he nodded and abruptly released his grip on Doc’s clothes.

“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing dramatically in direction of the exit. Doc took a deep breath, readjusting his hat and his clothes before he walked past Bobo, intentionally almost brushing against his shoulder. Bobo snorted but said nothing as he followed behind.

*

“So this is where you live.” If the word ‘unimpressed’ could have taken humanoid shape somehow, it would have turned into the exact embodiment of Bobo standing in front of him, looking across the small room with a frown etched into his face.

“It is.” Doc shrugged, taking off his coat and throwing it onto the bed. “I did not take you for a man with very high standards.”

Bobo’s frowned deepened at the words as he eyed the bed, bare chest of drawers and trunk in the corner. Doc had never been very drawn to keeping knickknacks and other useless objects – he preferred to own few things, all of which were of daily use to him. He might, after all, have to leave at a moment’s notice.

“I _do_ have standards,” Bobo told him, making it sound almost defensive. Doc had to bite off a laugh at the indignation in his voice. The way Bobo was eyeing one of the chairs before carefully lowering himself onto the seat was almost as funny. Doc chose his bed as a space to sit down himself.

“So,” he began, carefully unbuckling his gun belt, “care to tell me where you were these past six months?”

“Here and there,” Bobo told him. There was no denying the way his eyes followed Doc’s hips as he moved onto the bed, and Doc made sure to give him more than one good look. “Mostly, I was busy trying to find my place amongst the other revenants.”

“Which is what?” Doc asked. He had finally finished removed his belt and was now digging for a cigarillo in the pocket of his coat.

“Many of them did not know who they are or what they want to do. Some of them barely had any senses left after their time in hell.” Bobo looked down at his hand, playing with the one golden ring around his middle finger. “They profited from some…guidance.”

“You.” Doc laughed, not meaning for it to sound as mean-spirited as it probably came out. “Forgive me my presumptuousness, but you do not strike me as a leader.” Bobo shrugged, seemingly unfazed.

“It was either that or become everyone’s favourite whipping boy,” he said, the words coming slowly from his mouth as if he hadn’t truly wanted to say them. “And besides, it is the best way to gain information about the witch and find a way out of this prison.”

“None of this explains why you did not contact me.” Doc took a deep drag from his cigarillo and shifted into a different position on the bed.

“How do you think the other revenants would have reacted if they had caught you and I together?” Bobo looked up at him, gaze drilling into Doc’s. As much as he hated to admit it, Bobo had a point. Doc’d had his fair share of run-ins with a number of revenants who had been very angry at the role that he had played in more than one of Wyatt’s arrests and enforcements of ‘justice’.

“Fair point,” he conceded. “Still, there are other ways to get a message to someone. Letters, for example.”

It might as well have been his imagination, but for a split second Doc thought he could see Bobo’s gaze softening slightly when he talked about ‘letters’.

“Someone has to deliver them. Some will see them.” Bobo raised his hand when Doc opened his mouth to interject. “And besides, there was precious little to report anyway. As you probably heard, the witch has only been seen a handful of times, and none of them were even close enough to discern any location for her.”

“Why do we not just give her what she wants then? There must be something she wants.”

“Yes, the bones of her sons.” Bobo sighed. “The problem is, I do not know where they are buried, neither does anybody else. And, as Charlie mentioned so kindly earlier, apparently their bones are spread all across the triangle. It will take years to dig them all up. Decades, most likely. And she knows it. She wouldn’t fall for it if we told her we have them now.”

“Too bad. I, for one, am not willing to wait for decades.” Doc stretched, well aware that the motion did a fine job of accentuating his shoulders and lean torso. Bobo shifted slightly in reply, crossing his legs. “This ‘Lou’, then. He seems of a rather unsavoury sort – how exactly did make you his acquaintance?”

Bobo’s gaze darkened at the mention of Lou.

“He is dangerous,” he finally said. “He is far better to have as an ally rather than as a foe. And he found me, not I him – gave me an invitation to his wedding, in fact, a few months after we had all emerged from hell. He suggested an alliance during the reception.”

“And you did not dare tell him no.” Doc nodded. Bobo did not look happy, but he didn’t deny the words either. “Do you think he might prove a problem when it comes to the witch? How much does he know?”

“I did not tell him much, beyond the fact that she might have information on how we might be able to escape this place. Our goals are aligned, for now.”

“The witch is a popular woman, it appears.” Doc took a long drag from his cigarillo. “I do hope that I will still be the one to kill her, in the end.”

“I don’t see why anyone would object. Nobody needs to know where she has gone. Or that you were the one to kill her.” Bobo flicked a piece of lint from his pants. “We should, however, establish a line of communication that does not involve you risking your neck by spying on other revenants.”

“I thought all methods were unsafe.” Doc was unable to keep the soft mockery out of his voice. Bobo only rolled his eyes in response.

“Evidently, no communication equals ample opportunity for stupidity on your part,” he snorted. “And would thus be far more dangerous.”

Doc chose not to rise to Bobo’s baiting.

“What do you suggest, then?” he asked.

“There is an unused barn about a mile north of the well. I will leave any notes with any developments there. Of course, this goes both ways – anything that you find, you can deposit there as well. Does that suffice?” Doc mulled the information over in his head before he nodded.

“It does,” he agreed. Not that he had too much choice or leverage. ‘I will continue annoying you by putting myself in danger’ wasn’t exactly a viable long-term strategy. He would, however, be remiss if he didn’t point out the other problem they were still having. “We still have very little idea how to attract the attention of the witch, however. And it appears she is far too secretive to reveal her comings and goings on her own.”

“Perhaps we simply need something else to attract her attention, then,” Bobo suggest, the smallest of smirks pulling at the edges of his lips. “I’m sure there is more that she wants that isn’t the bones of her sons?”

“Money, perhaps? Or, if you’re planning on offering your body…” Doc was fairly sure he couldn’t make his interest more obvious at this point. Bobo only looked back at him and snorted.

“I have no desire to engage in any sexual acts with her,” he said with an offhand gesture, as if Doc hadn’t noticed the intensity of his gaze before. “No, I have something else in mind.”

“More false promises?” Doc was starting to grow impatient.

Bobo’s smile grew wider. He fished around in the pockets of his coat until he pulled out a piece of string that shimmered as if it were true silk.

“No,” he said. “ _You_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROBERT JUST WANTS SOME PEACE AND QUIET AND TO READ A NICE BOOK someone give him a break

_We need to talk._ That was all the note had said, leaving Robert to figure out some means for how to accomplish a meeting without alerting an increasingly controlling Lou or any of the other revenants to it. Which was the reason he was standing out here at the abandoned well at midnight, feeling the first chill of autumn air in the wind. If there was one good thing that hell had given him (apart from the ability to move certain things with his mind), it was the ability to always stay reasonably warm, no matter the weather. Still, he had far better things to do than to stare into the darkness as he waited for Doc Holliday to finally make an appearance.

It was substantially past midnight when Robert saw a shadowed figure approaching the well. The light of the waning moon made it difficult to see details, but the shape of the hat on his head was unmistakeable.

“You’re late,” Robert called out by way of a greeting. “Rather impolite, seeing that you were the one who insisted on a meeting.”

“It’s a long way to walk out here,” Doc shrugged and lit himself a cigarillo. Robert only rolled his eyes, leaning back against the edge of the well and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What was it that you needed to talk about so urgently?” he asked, getting more and more annoyed with each second that passed.

“People are dying.” Doc’s face was illuminated mostly by the glint of the cigarillo, but his eyes were glittering like two hard shells. There was something in his voice that Robert hadn’t heard there directed at him before, dangerous and pointed.

“People are _always_ dying. I need something more to go on than just that.” Strange; Robert had never been a smoker, but right now he felt an urge to have a cigarette himself.

“They are being mauled. Young girls, teenagers, mostly. Torn apart as if by _beasts_. Rumour is, many of them were seen in the presence of a man with a white patch of beard not so long before they died.” Doc’s voice was deathly quiet. If Robert hadn’t known that nothing but Peacemaker’s bullets was truly able of killing him, he would have feared for his life. Even now, Doc’s tone made a shudder run down his back.

“You think I’m a murderer.”

“You are a _revenant_ ,” Doc said, as if that was explanation enough – and perhaps, for many, it was. “I thought I trusted you. But hell does strange things to men, or so I’ve been told.”

“I did not murder any of these people.” Robert stood from where he had been leaning against the stone and walked up to Doc, until he was so close that he could have stolen his cigarillo. “You can believe me or you cannot, the truth remains the same.”

Doc looked at him, his gaze catching Robert’s and holding it with the utmost intensity.

“You want me to trust you,” he said, but there was less bite in his words than there had been a few moments ago. “But _trust_ goes both ways, _Bobo_. Why don’t you tell me who you really are?”

“No.” Robert didn’t move, even as Doc’s face contorted in anger. “As you mentioned, trust goes both ways, John Henry. And there’s certainly little trust you have left for me.”

“It seems we are at an impasse then.” Doc bared his teeth. “Too bad.”

“I did not murder these people.” Robert sighed. “However, I have a very reasonable idea of who did.”

“A shame that you haven’t used this knowledge to put an end to it, then,” Doc sneered, the contempt in his eyes not lessening in the least. Robert felt the rest of his patience erode slowly. He reached out, grabbing the lapel of Doc’s jacket and pulled him close, just like he had done in the abandoned building not long ago.

“Do not act so high and mighty, John Henry,” he hissed. “We all know who the true killer was back then. _Wyatt’s shadow_ , they called you. Wyatt’s _dog_. The one who did all the dirty work. You have murdered far more people than I _ever_ will.”

He could feel the punch coming shortly before Doc’s fist connected with his ribs. A flower of pain blossomed in his chest, but he didn’t let go, just inhaling sharply.

“Punching me won’t solve anything,” he said. “Are you done?”

“Are you?” Doc’s voice was all challenge and anger. For a moment they just stared at each other, faces still far too close. Robert took another deep breath, feeling the pain spread through his bones from his bruised ribs, before he finally let go of Doc and took a step back. He took a moment to smooth down his coat before looking at Doc again.

“I believe it was Lou who had them murdered.” Robert tried to make his tone as measured as possible and force is brain to stop thinking about the way Doc’s cheeks curved above his neck just so.

“’Had them murdered’?” Doc echoed. He hardly seemed surprised by the mention of Lou’s name. “He did not kill them himself?”

“Did Lou strike you as a man who would get his hands dirty if he didn’t have to?” Robert snorted. “All I know is that he marks them. And whoever is marked seems to be killed by ‘wild animals’ shortly thereafter.”

“You mean to say that he marks them for death somehow?” Doc frowned. “How would anything like this work?”

“I don’t know.” Robert shrugged. “There are a number of things he still keeps from me, although there are fewer and fewer as the time goes on. I’ve heard rumours amongst the other revenants, that there is a shapeshifter involved somehow.”

“A shapeshifter.” Doc evidently wanted to laugh before he looked at Robert again, reconsidering demons and curses and revenants. “Still, that does not answer my earlier question. Why were you seen with most of these girls before they died?”

“I find myself in Lou’s company more often than not, lately. Most of the revenants fear and respect him, and me, by association. And he is just invested in leaving the Triangle as I am, so he consciously helps in our effort to find the witch.”

“You should warn them.” Doc’s frown was not quite as pronounced as before, but it was still deep. “Tell them to stay away from him.”

“I do,” Robert shrugged. “But not all of them listen, and I cannot do it too obviously unless I want to attract Lou’s attention.”

“You are more interested in saving your own hide than helping them,” Doc sneered. Robert was about to reply, but thought better. It wasn’t like Doc had ever been overly famous for his own chivalry and selflessness.

“One day, Lou will need to be dealt with.” Doc’s eyes glistened, hard and cold. Robert only nodded. He didn’t know how or when, but someone like Lou could not be left to roam the world unattended, that much he agreed with.

“How are our plans for the witch progressing?” he asked.

Doc spread his arms.

“I’ve done what you suggested,” he said. “I spread rumours that I mean to kill her, and of how much I hate the revenants. And, in particular, you.” He gave a smile that was all teeth.

“I could punch you in the face in front of an audience, if that would help,” Robert offered, keeping his expression carefully blank. There was a spark of something neither quite rage nor amusement in Doc’s eyes that took him by surprise.

“I’d like to keep my teeth where they are for now, thank you.” Doc said. “Unlike you revenants, I cannot simply heal from whatever is being thrown at me.”

“The pain is the same regardless.” It wasn’t what Robert had _meant_ to say, but the words were out nonetheless. He could still feel the dull echo of agony from his ribs, and the mark on his back never quite seemed to stop hurting. His eyes moved away from Doc and he stared down at his hand instead, fingers open and closing. He didn’t want to see whether there was any pity in Doc’s eyes. “With regards to the witch – we’ve stopped searching for the bones. She’ll no doubt come and ask why soon.”

“Good.” Doc stepped closer, the smoke from his cigarillo burning in Robert’s nose. Robert looked up again, only to see Doc’s eyes searching his face for something that he couldn’t name. “Once the witch is dead and we know how to break the curse or, at least, let you escape this place, we will deal with Lou. And then we are free to go our own way.”

He made it sound so simple, but if Robert knew one thing, then it was that nothing involving Doc Holliday was ever quite so simple.

“We will be,” he confirmed and turned around to leave. “I will see you soon, I suspect.”

“Yes.”

Robert looked back as he left the well. Doc’s cigarillo was the only source of light, like a will-o'-the-wisp, beckoning to lead him and his thoughts astray.

*

The witch, of course, caught him in the middle of the night, away from prying eyes both human and revenant. Robert had been on the way to his apartment, the one safe haven he had carved out for himself amidst all the chaos of the world he had woken up in. _Ulysses_ had been waiting for weeks on his nightstand, its pages still untouched. Perhaps he should have known that this was when the witch would accost him; perhaps he should have heard her approach, been more careful in his comings and goings. As it was, the hand of invisible force that grabbed him from behind came entirely unexpected. It felt like lightning surging through his body all at once, every single nerve end screaming in pain for a split second before the feeling vanished abruptly and he was left kneeling on the street, unable to move as he gasped for breath.

“Robert, Robert, Robert.” Constance Clootie emerged from behind him, the heels of her boots suddenly as loud as a thunderstorm on the pavement. It was bitter irony that the one person who still knew his true name was also the one yielding it like an insult. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Ngh.” Robert strained against the force that kept pressing against him from all sides, severing any connection he might have been able to build to metal around him.

The witch walked around him, a dangerous glint in her eyes. She bent down and mustered his face, eyes roving over his neatly trimmed beard and the fur-lined coat he was wearing. Her hands reached out, fingers running down his cheek in a mock caress.

“You’ve _changed_ , Robert. What a sight to behold.” Her lips curved upwards in a smile that looked almost pleased. Robert wished he could lean away from her touch. “Have you ever considered asking me for a favour in…different ways? It might certainly make me more…amicable to any requests you might have.”

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but before he could answer, the witch laughed and shook her head.

“But oh, I forgot. You don’t really favour _women_ , do you.” She rose to her feet again and began walking around him, the tips of her fingers touching his shoulder and travelling across his back as she walked. “Such a shame. I promise you, I could do a lot better than the old fool Wyatt ever did. He never _did_ know how to appreciate what he had, didn’t he. Neither you, nor…” She came to a stop in front of him, her smile now wide and feral. “John Henry.”

Robert growled, angry fire filling him up until he thought he would burst. He could feel the mark on his back heating up again, half expecting it to burn through his coat.

“All of this, however, is unimportant considering the reason I came here.” Constance hunkered down in front of him, her fingers closing around his jaw like claws and digging into his skin. “Why did you stop searching for my sons?”

“I wanted your attention.” All the best deceptions had a dash of honesty in them. “And this seemed the best way to get it.”

The pressure around his jaw and throat increased, the witch’s fingernails digging into his skin. “So insolent,” she purred. “Surely, there would have been less insulting ways for you to get what you want.” There it was again, her fingers stroking his skin in an utter mockery of care.

“Perhaps.” If he had been able to, Robert would have shrugged his shoulders. He had no desire to prolong this conversation any longer than necessary. “I have a _present_ for you.”

“A present?” Constance’s smile became bright and pleased. “My, Robert, you _do_ know how to woo a lady after all.”

“Release me and I will tell you,” Robert hissed, his eyes deliberately taking on the dark red hue that had been a memento from hell.

“I think not.” The witch laughed. “I am not that easily duped. And, I must admit, I do derive a certain enjoyment from seeing you on your knees.”

Robert growled. “ _Release me_.”

The witch rolled her eyes in response, but after a motion from her hands, the pressure around Robert lessened just slightly. Not enough for any sudden movements, but enough to allow him to stand up and roll his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his cramped muscles. The witch motioned at him to speak.

“I have it on good standing that Doc Holliday is going to kill you,” Bobo said, watching her expression. Constance just sighed.

“ _That_ is hardly news. If this piece of information is the _gift_ you spoke of, then…”

“It is not.” Bobo shifted his stance slightly. He hadn’t missed the tiniest spark of fear that had flickered through her eyes at Doc’s name. “I can deliver him to you. He thinks we are working together to bring you down; I told him to meet me tomorrow night, because I will bring the witch to him. I’ll have him waiting there for you, bound and ready. Give me the information for how to leave the triangle, and he’s yours to do with whatever you want.”

“Now _that_ is a far more pleasing proposition.” The witch stepped back, putting a finger on her lips as she considered his words. “Tell me, where is this meeting supposed to take place?”

“The old rotting barn north of the well that you threw Doc Holliday into. I’ve been meeting him there. Come there at the witching hour, tomorrow night, and you’ll find him.”

The witch nodded, her eyes searching his face for evidence of a lie. Robert held her gaze, filling his mind with the fires of hell. His anger must have shown, because after a moment, she nodded.

“I do not trust you, Robert. But if you bring me Doc Holliday, I could be persuaded to give you what you want.” Of course, she would do no such thing, at least not as long as she didn’t have her sons’ bones. But for now, they could both pretend that they had each other where they wanted.

“I trust you will be there tomorrow, then.”

Constance only smiled before her heels carried her away across the pavement. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that the invisible hold around Robert finally released and he took a deep breath, trying to hide the slight trembling of his fingers.

*

After leaving a message for Doc, Robert finally settled down to read. He had made it no farther than two pages in before there was a firm knock on his door. For a moment, Robert debated pretending that he simply wasn’t at home – it was late at night after all. Before he could come to a conclusion, the knock sounded again, this time more insistent. With a sigh, he put _Ulysses_ down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Robert had readied himself for another unpleasant visitor on the other side of the door and was surprised to find none other than Doc Holliday himself standing there.

“John Henry,” he said. “How do you-“

“-know where you live? You forget that I’ve followed you before. And your message made it sound like it was urgent.” Doc looked as chipper and fresh as if it was ten in the morning, rather than late at night.

“ _Tomorrow_ night. Not now.” Robert sighed.

“Well, given that I am here, it would only be proper to invite me in, would it not? Especially since you have already seen the humble abode that I have made my home in.” Doc seemed entirely serious. Robert hesitated for another second before he opened the door fully and gestured him inside.

Doc followed his invitation and suddenly, Robert was acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing anything but comfortable pants and a soft undershirt. Docs gaze wandered across his entire body in something approximating open appreciation before he took off his hat and placed it on the dresser next to the door.

“I brought something to lessen the sting of such a late visit.” Doc patted the pockets of his coat before he pulled a bottle of whiskey out and waved it meaningfully at Robert. “I presume you have glasses?”

Of course he did. Robert had never approved of drinking straight from the bottle. There was a proper way of doing things.

He padded over to the little kitchen, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor and liberated his whiskey glasses from the cupboard.

“I hope this isn’t one of the cheap ones,” he said as he set them down on the small table in living room. Doc had already taken off his coat and taken a seat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his bare arms.

“Do you take me for a cheap man, Bobo?” Doc asked, looking entirely serious as he opened the bottle and poured them both a measure. Robert just rolled his eyes.

“To our partnership then.” Doc raised his glass, tipping it against Robert’s.

“To our partnership,” Robert agreed. The liquid burned on its way down his throat, its heat pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“Can revenants even get drunk?” Doc was frowning into his now empty glass, as if the answer was written at the bottom. “What with your…healing thing.” His words were accompanied by vague handwaving.

“We can,” Robert confirmed, grabbing the bottle and pouring them another drink. “It just takes a lot more.”

“Well, now here is a challenge if I have ever heard one. I should have brought more than one bottle, it seems.” Doc eyed the sad spread on the table with an almost disappointed expression. Robert shrugged, before he rose from his seat and walked over to a small cabinet. Doc’s eyes lit up with an amused expression when he saw the two bottles in Robert’s hands when he returned.

“This should suffice,” Robert said dryly as he sat down again. The bottles made a rather satisfying sound when they hit the table’s surface. They drank another measure of whiskey in silence before Robert began talking again.

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking…why are you here?” He frowned at Doc. “Last time I saw you a week ago, you accused me of being a murderer and made it clear that there was no trust between us.”

“Well, things can change.” Doc raised his glass in a mock toast before taking a good swallow of the whiskey inside.

“You are not known for budging so easily in your opinions.” Robert remained sceptical, turning his only glass between his hands. “Are you here to get me drunk so I will be easier to incapacitate?”

“You are insulting my honour.” For a moment Doc looked so honestly affronted that Robert couldn’t help but laugh. Everybody knew that Doc Holliday’s honour was, at best, a very fickle thing, perfectly flexible and adaptable to fit whatever plan he might be making to bring his opponents down. “I would not waste fine liquor on a man if I was planning to kill or otherwise dispose of him. Cheap whiskey would fulfil the role just fine for such a purpose.”

“Well, I suppose I should be glad to hear this.” Robert sighed and emptied his glass again. He could feel the barest of tingling in his head from the alcohol by now. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Doc sighed, took another swallow of whiskey, and leaned back in his chair. Robert had no doubt that he was consciously stretching out so that the lean lines of his body were on perfect display.

“I figured, if I am going to place my life into someone’s hand, I would like to get to know them a little better first.” He raised a hand when Robert opened his mouth to argue.

“I am not talking about the past.” He made a vague gesture, encompassing both Robert and his apartment. “I am talking about _you_.”

“Right.” Robert eyed him, unable to keep the suspicion out of his gaze, at least judging from the expression on Doc’s face. He made a rather exaggerated motion at himself and the apartment around him.

“And what have you learned thus far?”

“Mhm.” Doc tilted his head and swirled the remnants of whiskey in his glass. “You like books.” Robert followed his gaze towards the bookshelf at the far end of the small room, crammed in next to the bed and laughed quietly.

“You have terrible taste in fashion.” This time, Doc’s gaze was directed at the fur-lined coat haphazardly thrown across the coat rack. Robert snorted.

“Debatable. But sometimes it is…good to make a statement and be memorable, even amongst the bloodthirsty revenant lot.”

Doc shrugged and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Whatever works for you. However…” His eyes narrowed. “…as a man of certain...desires, I _would_ wager that you have had sex with other men.”

Robert nearly spat out his whiskey.

“Excuse me?” He asked, coughing violently.

“I am sorry if I offend,” Doc said, with a gesture that made it clear that he wasn’t the least bit sorry, “but I must admit that I do have a certain amount of…experience in the matter and am usually a _very_ reliable judge.”

“I-“ Another coughing fit overtook Robert.

“I cannot help but notice that you are not denying it.” Doc emptied his glass, completely at ease as he watched Robert slowly regain his composure.

“Is that why you came here tonight?” Robert asked when he had finally stopped coughing and wiped his eyes. “For a good fuck?”

“I have to admit the thought crossed my mind, yes.” The hunger in Doc’s eyes was unmistakeable as his gaze roved over Robert’s body. “However, as willing as I am to cross limits, I would not do so if it wasn’t what we _both_ wanted.”

“I am not sure whether I should be flattered or not,” Robert said carefully. It had been a rather open secret forty years ago that Doc Holliday would sleep with anyone who was willing and who met his, according to rumour, rather flexible standards.

“Mhm. However, we can also continue talking, if you wish.” Doc waved at the bottles on the table. “What is it like, being a revenant?”

“Not so different from being human, most of the time,” Robert answered. “That is, if you disregard the fact that we cannot die. And that several of us returned from hell with slightly…diminished mental facilities or unnatural capabilities.”

“You truly are immortal, then?” Doc asked.

“Apart from Peacemaker’s bullets? As far as we know, yes. And trust me, some of my fellow revenants have been getting rather…creative in testing the limits of our bodies.” Robert shuddered slightly when he recalled the early days of the ‘experiments’ as some revenants had called them.

Doc was quiet for a moment at the revelation.

“Sounds painful,” he said at last, with an unusual amount of thoughtfulness in his voice.

“It is.” Robert shrugged. “But we have all been to hell. None of us are strangers to pain.” He thought of the mark on his back, how it was always there, pulling at his skin and burning brightly with the flame of all his anger.

“Hell.” Doc cocked his head. “What is it like?”

Robert took his time in answering. He poured himself another drink, closing his eyes as the burning liquid made its way down his throat.

“Like hell,” he said dryly. “What was it like, being stuck at the bottom of a well for forty years?”

“Fair enough,” Doc nodded. “It was cold, dark and dirty. Like you would expect from the bottom of a well.” His answering smile had no mirth in it. For a moment they were both silent, wallowing in the memory of their own mutual torment.

“Have you ever thought about leaving this place? To go back home?” Robert felt like it was his turn to ask questions now. And this one, at least, was of a much less touchy nature.

“Several times, yes.” Doc turned the glass in his hand, forehead creased in thought. “Although I am not sure what counts as ‘home’. I guess I am more familiar with Purgatory now than the rest of the world.”

 _And the revenants, too_ , Robert guessed. They might have been his enemies once upon a time, sure, but they were also one of the few things that hadn’t changed all of a sudden.

“And the witch is here,” Robert finished the thought for him.

“And the witch is here,” Doc confirmed. “Speaking of the witch, care to elaborate on your oh-so-perfect plan once more?”

“Of course.” Robert was glad for the opportunity to move away from more personal topics of conversation. It took him two more drinks to explain what he had in mind, with Doc nodding along and interjecting with the occasional suggestion. 

“Well, it appears we have everything planned out.” Doc placed his glass on the table and leaned back in his chair again, stretching out more. “There is a not insignificant likelihood that it will all go terribly wrong, of course, but it is a chance I am willing to take.”

“It is up to you whether the risk is acceptable.” Robert rolled his shoulders. “ _I_ cannot die. You can.”

“What an astute observation.” Doc chuckled. “If it gets us the witch, I am all for it.”

“I am glad we agree. Let us hope that tomorrow night will spell the end of this particular problem of ours.”

“Now _this_ is something I will toast to.” Doc raised his newly filled glass, clinking it against Robert’s. “To our success tomorrow.”

“To our success,” Robert agreed.

Doc was the first to rise from his seat. Instead of putting his coat back on, however, he moved to closer to Robert, seating himself on the edge of the table not far from him. His motion as he leaned into Robert’s space was nothing but deliberate.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about before you leave?” Robert wasn’t properly drunk yet, but the pleasant tingling had spread throughout his body making him relaxed and loose-limbed. He had no desire to escape Doc’s proximity. Doc leaned forward, chin perched on his hand. He was so close that Robert could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with a whiff of his cigarillos. It should have been offputing, but in his current state it was more than intoxicating.

“Perhaps?” Doc offered, a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.

“Then tell me – why are you so interested in me? Why are you _here_?” Robert shifted until he, too, was leaning forward, his face mere inches away from Doc’s. Doc cocked his head slightly in response.

“You fascinate me,” he finally said. He reached out, fingertips tracing the white patch in Robert’s beard. “And I can respect a man who has his eyes set so unerringly on a goal that he will do anything to achieve it. You are driven and unwilling to compromise. And you are a far more confident man than the person who pulled me out of the well in January.” His fingers moved to Robert’s chin, ran down the side of his throat. “I have always been attracted to confidence.”

Doc leaned forward to close the space between them, the heel of his palm resting on Robert’s shoulder and fingers digging gently into his skin. His lips tasted exactly like Robert had imagined. It had been a while since he had been kissed like this – full of hungry want, yes, but not of the indiscriminate kind. Doc wasn’t here to fuck _someone_ , he was here to fuck _Robert_. The thought was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Robert raised his arm to Doc’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair to pull him closer more forcefully. Doc made a pleased noise against his mouth (and oh, Robert remembered all too well how _eager_ Doc’s body had been when he had held him against the wall before), the pressure of his fingers on Robert’s skin increasing.

They were breathless when they finally moved away from each other again. Doc’s face was flushed and his eyes glistening. He seemed unable to keep his hands off Robert’s skin, his touch roaming across his shoulders and chest, humming in appreciation at the muscle of his bare shoulders.

“ _Fascinated_ , is it?” Robert was unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“More than a little.” Doc slid off the table, stepping in between Robert’s spread legs. His hand ran down Robert’s chest until it come to rest on the growing bulge of Robert’s pants. There was a wicked grin on his face when he increased the pressure of his palm and leaned forward until his mouth was so close to Robert’s ear that his hot breath made goosebumps appear on Robert’s skin.

“I need you to fuck me,” he whispered. From the quiet laugh rumbling in his throat he was rather pleased with the way Robert’s entire body shuddered in response. Robert’s only reply was a low rumble in his throat. His hand moved down Doc’s back before slipping below his pants. For a brief moment he spared a thought for poor Robert Svane who would likely have taken flight at this point already. Whoever he was, however, he was no longer the soft-spoken man who would rather give when pushed than push back.

“Bed?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Doc arched his body against Robert’s with a rather pleased noise, the muscles of his ass flexing beneath Robert’s hands in an almost maddening tease. “With far fewer clothes than we are wearing now, yes.”

“Now _that_ can be arranged.”

Doc’s laugh was nothing if not delighted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favourite chapter to write. I wish there was a lot more Bobo whump in this world =D
> 
> Warnings for Lou & Constance being creeps, talk about torture, and temporary character death.

“This idea seemed a far better one yesterday.” Doc tugged at the rope that tied his wrists to the wooden post behind him.

“Well.” Bobo was standing at the other end of the barn, frowning at the sacks of salt they had stacked there. “I have to admit, I don’t actually mind the picture as much.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Doc rolled his eyes. If this were a different situation (less of the ‘life-threatening’ and more of the ‘about to become very pleasant’ sort), he would indeed not mind being tied up either. Especially now that he had gotten a taste of the things Bobo was capable of.

“Are you sure the knot will come loose when required?” He gave another tug. The ropes seemed rather sturdy to him.

“Yes, it will.” Bobo sighed. “Stop moving. If they come loose to early, the witch will notice.”

Doc bared his teeth, but he did as he was told. He felt strangely naked, knowing that he was about to face his closest enemy without his trusty gunbelt on his hips. One of his revolvers was tucked carefully out of sight between his back and the wooden post as a safety measure, as was the knife hidden in his boot, but it was still far less security than he was used to.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asked, as much to distract himself as from the genuine desire to know.

“She will be here. ‘Witching hour’ is not the most accurate of time frames.” Bobo left his place next to the door to walk over to him. He knelt down behind him to check the rope, his fingers brushing ever so lightly over Doc’s skin in the process. He leaned over from behind, his voice so close to Doc’s ear that he felt a shiver run through his body.

“ _Patience_ , John Henry.”

The edges of Bobo’s coat tickled Doc’s skin as Bobo rose from his crouch to return to his post not far from the door.

“Tease,” Doc murmured, quietly enough not to be heard. Or so at least he thought; the soft chuckle coming from Bobo proved him wrong. He was about to follow up with another quip when Bobo’s face suddenly fell into a frown. He drew himself up straight, his completely unnecessary coat settling on his shoulders like both a warning and a protection. It made Doc miss his own coat, but they had both agreed that their ruse would look far more convincing if he was tied to the post without it. It was warm enough anyway, despite the late hour.

Seconds after Bobo’s change in demeanour, the door to the barn opened, admitting Constance Clootie herself. The witch looked exactly like she had four decades ago, all arrogance and biting cold. Doc could feel something inside him tense, the rage washing over him hot and familiar. It took all his strength to restrain himself from lunging at her right this moment.

“Robert! I see you have kept your promise for a change.” The witch seemed positively delighted with what she was seeing.

“I have. As I said I would.” Bobo (Robert?) looked like he would rather be anywhere else than here. He turned around and indicated Doc’s bound form with a careless motion of his hand.

“Indeed.” The witch’s smile was all pleasure and no warmth. She walked over to Doc, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat. It was revolting and infuriating in equal measure. These sensations only grew when she hunkered down in front of him and gripped his chin, her sharp fingernails digging into his skin.

“John Henry. It’s such a _pleasure_ to see you again.” Her voice was almost a purr. Doc only spat in her face in response.

The slap came so quickly that he barely saw it. It was forceful enough to make his head whip around as his cheek flared with brilliant pain. He could feel blood dribble down his stinging skin from where her nails had cut into his face.

“We are going to have so much fun, you and I,” Constance promised. “I, for one, am rather looking forward to it.” Doc only glared at her.

“Perhaps don’t spoil all your fun just yet.” Bobo sounded incredibly bored. He was leaning against an old worktable nearby, cleaning his fingernails with small knife. “Or do so, if you want; it’s all the same to me. As long as I get my payment so I can get away from here first.”

“Ah, yes, our little ‘ _agreement_ ’.” The witch heaved a dramatic sigh. “What was it? You wanted to know how to break the curse? Leave this place?”

“Yes.” Bobo stopped cleaning his nails, but the knife was still in his hand, tip pointed rather casually in the witch’s direction. “Tell me, and I will leave. You’ll be free to do to Doc whatever you like.”

“And if I don’t?” Constance’s smile grew even wider, something that Doc had barely though possible.

“Then I’ll kill him, and you’ll have no entertainment.” The knife flew out of Bobo’s hand, burying itself in the wood next to Doc’s throat. It had come so close to killing him that it left a red-hot trail of pain on his skin. Doc flinched, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. _This_ hadn’t been part of their plan. Not at all. If Bobo was about to betray him…

Bobo seemed utterly unfazed by the inner turmoil that he was putting Doc through. He pulled out a second knife, slowly tapping it on his palm again. “It’s your choice.”

“My, how you have changed, Robert.” There seemed to be a drop of honest admiration in the witch’s voice. “Such a difference from the man who sacrificed himself for people he barely even knew.” _Sacrificed himself_? Doc frowned. Now more than ever he wished that he knew who Bobo really was.

“From you it almost sounds a compliment.” Bobo pushed himself away from the table, walking towards the middle of the barn. “The answer, if you please.”

“Do you really think threatening to kill this man and ridding me of a problem will force me to give you the answer you desire?” Constance laughed, sharp and loud. “Oh Robert, you vastly overestimate the leverage you think you have over me. However…”

She walked closer to him until she was a mere foot away.

“Since you _have_ proven your loyalty so admirably, I will give you something. There is a prophecy about how the curse could be broken. All _you_ will need is a willing heir on the winter solstice.” The witch smiled, wicked and wide.

“To do what?” Bobo demanded. He took a step backwards, the knife pointing past the witch and in Doc’s direction. Doc couldn’t see her face, but he would wager that she was still positively delighted by the situation.

“Patience, Robert.” She followed him until she was so close that she could have touched his face if she desired. “You will receive the rest of the information once you give me my sons.”

Bobo growled, his eyes taking on a red sheen.

“We had an _agreement_ , Constance.” He raised his hands as if to touch her arms, knife still held between his fingers. Doc couldn’t quite see what the witch was doing, but suddenly Bobo’s hands dropped to his side and he was screaming, the witch’s fingers digging into his hair. He dropped to his knees, as if forced down by an invisible hand, the knife he had been holding clattering to the floor. At the same moment, something shifted in the air – Doc didn’t need a time piece to know that Witching Hour was over.

It was now or never.

Doc yanked his hands apart with all the force he could muster. For a split second the pressure on his shoulders was immense and he was scared that Bobo had, after all, betrayed him. Then the knot around his wrists unravelled and he jumped up, the gun tucked in his waistband clattering to the ground.

He ignored his gun as Bobo’s agonised yelling echoed through the barn. Instead, he reached for the pack of salt in his pockets and lurched forward. The fragile pack burst open as soon as he smashed it on the floor, right behind the witch. It spread in a neat little pile, and the witch’s hands moved away from Bobo as she turned around with a hiss of fury.

Bobo fell forward, barely keeping himself upright. He was still quivering in pain from whatever the witch had done to him.

“You!” She snarled at Doc, about to lunge forward and attack him, but was brought up short. Just for a moment her face was a mask of fear before it contorted in outrage and she whipped around, grapping Bobo by the collar of his coat. “What have you done?”

“Surely you recognise a salt circle,” Doc said, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. They had taken great care to cover the six foot wide circle with enough lose straw that it wasn’t immediately recognisable. Bobo let out a breathless laugh from his position half on the floor.

“You didn’t think I would trust you, did you, Constance? Robert might have been a trustworthy fool, but he died for it. I would never make the same mistake he did.”

The witch let out a sound of wordless rage and reached out with her hand, fingers forming into claws. Bobo convulsed in pain again.

“You will let me out of this circle, or hell will pale in the shadow of the pain I will rain upon you,” she hissed. Bobo had no breath left to answer.

“You forget that there are two of us.” Crossing the circle without smudging its lines did not break its magic (which was only directed at the witch either way), that much they had been able to establish beforehand. Doc leapt into it, the string of gallows’ silk Bobo had given him earlier ready in his hands. Before Constance could even notice what he had done, he had looped the cord around her from behind.

As soon as the gallows’ silk touched her skin, she let out a scream, arms falling to her side. It only took a few moments for Doc to have her fully bound and sitting in the middle of the circle. The glare of defiance in her eyes couldn’t quite hide the fear that crossed her face, especially when she looked at Doc. He had pulled his knife out of his boot and was tapping it thoughtfully on his palm, just like Bobo had done earlier.

The revenant in question was slowly drawing himself up to his knees again, breathing heavily, a tremble still caught in his arms.

“Now, Constance,” Bobo said. “It seems that my _leverage_ over you has increased by quite a bit. Care to tell me the rest of the prophecy?”

The witch’s eyes flickered back and forth between Doc and Bobo. She was quickly making the correct assessment as her gaze landed on Doc – Bobo might be the one threatening her, but Doc was the one she should be afraid of.

“If you let me go, then-“

“No,” Doc said flatly. “We have already established that we do not _trust_ you. Tell us, or I will make you.”

The fear in her eyes flared up and Bobo sighed.

“Just tell us, Constance. You have my word that we will let you go.”

The witch only sneered in response, evidently convinced that Doc would not follow up on his threat. With many other men she would have been correct, but unfortunately for her, Doc Holliday was a man with a grudge and a very flexible set of morals. Heaving a sigh, Doc reached out with his knife in her direction (surely, some little salt in a wound would make her talk?). Before he could touch her, however, there was a sudden push of an outside force and his hand was jerked forwards, burying the knife up to the hilt in the witch’s heart.

Her mouth opened in an expression of surprise as she fell dead the floor.

Doc turned to see Bobo with his hand slightly raised, looking rather unapologetic at the large blood stain spreading on her chest.

“Why did you do that?” He gestured at the witch’s corpse, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “She would have told you what you wanted to know.”

“I might have learned to approve of murder under the right circumstances, but I do draw the line at torture.” Bobo looked almost offended. “And there was no guarantee that her information would have been accurate.”

“What a waste.” Doc sat back on his haunches and eyed the knife for a moment before he pulled it back out and began cleaning it. He had hoped to feel more satisfied at the witch’s death, but the gratification wouldn’t quite come. Bobo was still clearly in pain, not rising from his seat on the floor but pressing a hand against his chest instead, his eyes closed. “Do you need any assistance?”

“I will be fine,” Bobo said, eyes still closed. “I-“

He never finished the sentence. The barn door opened with a loud noise, revealing Lou and two revenants flanking him. They were holding guns, but Lou himself had a crossbow loaded with wooden bolts directed at them.

“What an unexpected sight.” Lou’s lips curved into a smile. His voice was still velvety-soft, like an old piece of cloth that you knew was rotting underneath. “Bobo, you never told me that you were _fraternising_ with Doc Holliday.”

Doc was about to draw his gun when he realised that it was still back at the post where he had left it earlier. He bared his teeth in defiance.

Bobo had opened his eyes again to stare at Lou, and then at the metal parts of the mechanism on his crossbow, the fingers of his hand twitching. Lou, however, had evidently noticed the movement.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t.” Loud smiled widely and shot him. Bobo grunted and choked off a scream as the impact knocked him back, a wooden bolt lodged neatly in his stomach.

“You know, I’m disappointed.” Lou stepped over to him, reloading the crossbow and firing again before Bobo could react, the bolt hitting him between his ribs. “Here I thought that we had an agreement, Bobo. We find the witch, we make her tell us how to leave this place. But instead, you go behind my back to work with Doc Holliday. You know how I _hate_ getting betrayed.”

He levelled the crossbow straight at Bobo’s face.

“Wait.” Doc raised his right hand in Lou’s direction. He hoped that no one would realise how he was fumbling for the knife in his boot with his left. “If you kill him now, he won’t be able to tell you what we know.”

“Doc Holliday, pleading for someone else’s life. What a surprise.” Lou turned around. “And for the life of someone who cannot even _die_.”

Doc’s fingers had finally found the hilt of the knife. He whirled around, intent on delivering a cut to Lou’s ankles, but the revenant was _fast_. Doc’s knife connected, but only just, doing little more than delivering a superficial flesh wound. Lou snarled with anger and kicked him the side, planting his heel on Doc’s wrist when he went down. He pressed, hard, so that Doc could feel the bones grinding together below his skin, giving him no choice but to let go.

“John Henry Holliday. As always, a man full of surprises.” Lou hunkered down next to him, waving his two goons closer. One of them kept his weapon trained at Bobo, whilst the other pointed his at Doc’s head. “Now, I will only say this once, and I hope you listen. Do not _ever_ cross my path again.” He brought down the end of his crossbow.

It hit Doc’s temple with a crack, and the world in front of his eyes disappeared.

*

When he came to again, Lou was gone, leaving behind nothing but an unpleasant taste in the air. Doc’s head was hammering, pulsing in a painful rhythm with his injured wrist. Raising his hand to his face Doc frowned when his fingers touched something rough on his cheek.

There was a soft groan coming from somewhere to his right and when he turned his head, he saw Bobo curled up on his side, not far away. The crossbow bolts were still sticking from his body, blood wetting his clothes and pooling underneath. Bobo’s hands were pulling feebly at the wood, but he was far too weak to do anything. It was beyond Doc how he was still conscious. 

His entire body ached like one large bruise, but Doc finally managed to draw himself up to his knees and crawl the short distance towards Bobo.

“’m sorry.” Bobo barely brought out the words and coughed, grimacing in in pain. Doc had never heard him sound so small, his fingers still touching the bolt lodged between his ribs and, presumably, in his lung.

“Bobo,” Doc said softly. He rose to his knees and, gritting his teeth against the agony in his head, managed to manoeuvre himself so that his back was leaning against the post again. He grabbed Bobo under his shoulders and drew him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly when Bobo gave a pained shout at the movement. His back was now pillowed against Doc’s chest, fitting so perfectly against him as if it had always belonged there. Bobo coughed again, his body convulsing as his hands fell to the ground and scrabbled blindly for purchase.

“Shhhh.” Doc shifted slightly, so that Bobo’s head was nestled comfortably between his shoulder and cheek. He reached forward with his hand until he could grasp his fingers. They were cold and slick with blood, although he could feel them curling slightly around his.

“Why?” Bobo whispered. He sounded lost, like he did not know what to do with affection that was given so freely, even now.

“No man should have to die alone,” Doc said, his voice quiet. Bobo tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak chuckle.

Doc could feel the chill spreading through Bobo’s body, long before the hand that he was holding finally went limp and Bobo’s head fell back against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and remained sitting there for a long time, feeling the weight of the lifeless body against his chest and wondering how it had all come to this. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some soft things. Thank you all for your kind comments so far, they really keep me going! <3 (I promise I will reply to the last set asap, I'm a bit behind with everything right now...)

When Robert woke up again, everything hurt. The last thing he remembered were the reassuring sound of Doc’s heart beating against his back and the feeling of being held close as he slipped away. Blood, there had been so much blood and the crossbow-

His eyes flew open and he raised his hands to his chest. It _hurt_ , but not with the devastating fierceness it had before. Instead of bloodied clothes and wooden bolts, all he could find was a set of bandages wrapped firmly around his naked midsection and chest. He tried to sit up but sank back with a pained noise halfway through the attempt. His body was apparently still regenerating. It seemed like the witch had weakened him enough with her attack that the entire process took far longer than usual.

“You’re awake.” The sleepy mumble came from somewhere to his right. It was only now that Robert noticed they were no longer in the barn, but in his own home instead and that he was lying on his bed. Which meant-

Doc Holliday was slowly unfurling himself from where he had been sleeping in Robert’s armchair. He looked pale, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than the night before and there was an ugly bruise forming on one side of his face. What immediately drew Robert’s gaze, however, was the set of dusky stripes over his left eye.

“He marked you.” Robert was unable not to say the words. Everything else paled against it in immediacy.

“He- what-“ Doc raised his hand to his face where it touched the stripes. “Ah, yes.”

“You need to leave.” Robert tried to sit up again, this time forcing his body to obey his will despite the wave of agony rolling through him. He leaned back against the headboard, trying to catch his breath.

“I would apologise for the disturbing the sanctity of your home, but I would like to remind you that you _were_ dead when I dragged you back here last night. A little gratitude perhaps-“

“No, no, I am grateful.” Robert waved his hand, urgency suffusing his bones. “I don’t just mean my home. You need to leave the Triangle. You need to get away before Lou kills you.”

“Ah.” Doc leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. “And what if I would do no such thing?”

“Why would you not want to leave?” Robert frowned, unable to understand. “The witch is dead. The whole world is open to explore for you. Why would you stay where you are sure to be killed?”

“There could be many reasons.” Doc mustered him briefly. “Chief amongst them all that I am _not_ a man who is known to run from danger. Besides, leaving a murderer like Lou running around freely rankles me, especially after what he has done to us.” He indicated his own form and Robert’s aching body with a quick motion.

“And what are you going to do?” Robert pinched the bridge of his nose with a soft groan. He was only too aware that he was likely just as much a hunting target for Lou and all those who followed him as Doc was at this point. “You know you cannot kill him.”

“I am sure there are methods of keeping a man… _occupied_ …until the next Earp heir appears who can kill him.” Doc mustered him, his eyes devoid of any false pretences.

“There has been no sight of Josiah in Purgatory yet, although I’m sure it is just a question of time.” Bobo felt the muscles of his twitch as a pang of pain went through him from his chest. “You are forgetting that you have been marked. Even if we can somehow get close enough to Lou to catch him, his shapeshifter would devour us before long.”

“’Shapeshifter’?” Doc frowned.

“It’s what we think they are. Nobody has seen them, but there are rumours that his new wife can change shape whenever she wants…”

“The animal maulings.” Doc’s eyes hardened.

“I don’t think she knows that she’s doing it. Or, at least, she’s not doing it voluntarily.” Robert felt the need to interject. “I have only met her once, at his wedding, and she did not seem the kind to enjoy ripping people apart.”

“And yet, she does seem to have no problem doing so.” Doc did not seem convinced.

“You are awfully quick to cast judgment for a man who, just a few hours ago, wanted to torture a woman for information,” Robert couldn’t help but say. Doc sneered and for a moment, Robert was reminded only too well of what it was like to be at the receiving end of such utter derision.

“We will see,” was all Doc replied. Robert sighed and sank back against the wall behind him. It was the best he could hope for under the circumstances, he supposed. It was only then that another question wormed its way to the forefront of his mind.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, with a small gesture indicating himself and his apartment. “Of course, I am grateful that you brought me back here, instead of leaving me in the barn, but…”

“Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to make sure that you would wake up somewhere safe?”

It was, at least here and now. Especially coming from someone like Doc Holliday.

“If you are hoping for sex, I am sorry to have to disappoint.” Robert made sure to keep his tone light to distract from the uncomfortable emotions Doc’s question had brough up in him. Doc rolled his eyes.

“Whilst I am not opposed to carnal pleasures at any other time, it is not why I am here.” He stretched in his seat. “It seemed safer for now to remain together. And I had to talk with you.” As he moved, a stack of papers and envelopes fell from the armrest of the chair he was sitting on. Robert frowned when he recognised the writing.

“Is that-“

“Now, before you begin to admonish me for digging into your private affairs…” Doc raised hand. “I did not deliberately go searching for these. In fact, I was looking for medical supplies when I stumbled across them, and the name on the front gave me pause.”

He held up the envelope on the top. It had Robert’s name and his old address in Purgatory scribbled on it. The handwriting set off an unexpected ache in his chest.

“’Robert Svane’,” Doc repeated out loud. “It took me some time until I remembered a completely unremarkable man who disturbed my poker game one evening. No wonder that you chose to leave me in that well. Tell me, did you go back to Wyatt afterwards? Did you warm his bed for years now that I was gone before you somehow found yourself at the wrong end of his gun?”

“You had no right to read these letters,” Robert said quietly. Remaining quiet was the only way not to unleash his suddenly intense fury upon Doc Holliday. “And Wyatt never cared for me. When the witch led me to the well I was already dying.”

“Lover’s spat gone bad?” Doc’s voice was acidic. “And I did not read them.”

“No. Stupidity on my part, mostly. To think that _anyone_ cared.” Robert couldn’t help the bitterness creeping into his own voice. “If you did not read them, then I suggest you find the one written by Wyatt and read it. You should recognise his handwriting.”

Doc only looked at him for a few long seconds. Whatever he saw seemed good enough for the moment. He rifled through the envelopes until he found the lose pages that the witch had given Robert, dirty and creased.

Robert had no desire to watch the expression on Doc’s face when he read the letter. He closed his eyes and leaned back, wishing he was anywhere else but here. There was silence from Doc, the rustling of pages the only sound in the room until he made an unidentifiable noise in his throat.

“I had been wondering whether Wyatt might have taken out his anger with me on someone else. I guess this is the answer.”

Robert opened his eyes then to find Doc staring intently at him. His earlier anger seemed to have passed like a quick shower of summer rain, leaving them both drenched and exhausted.

“Why did he kill you?” Doc asked, his voice soft. Robert was unable to meet the intensity of his gaze any longer. He opted to stare at his hands instead, picking at the bandages around his chest, forcing himself to remember that, despite his words, Doc has been the one to carry him all the way back here, drag him into his apartment and clean and look after his wounds.

“I got in the way when I shouldn’t have,” he finally said. “Clootie had grabbed me to use as a shield. I told Wyatt to shoot – we would never get this chance again.” He found his lips curving into a bitter smile. “He didn’t even hesitate.”

Doc sighed. “And then he just left you to die.”

“Yes.” There was no need to mention how it had taken days for him to die, alone and so delirious with fever from his wound that he thought he had seen his angel in the end. How he had heard the voices of the townsfolk at the edges of his awareness, the people he had sacrificed his life for, whispering how nobody should go close to the dying man, as he was cursed by a demon. How the creatures of hell had used their voices to mock him for decades. How, until the very end, he had hoped that Wyatt would come.

Doc was quiet for a moment, working through this new set of information.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the end. “I was not aware.”

“Now you are,” Robert said bitterly. “Do with it whatever you will.”

“Robert…”

“No. That name is not yours to use.” Robert bared his teeth, tired beyond words.

“Fine. _Bobo_ then.” Doc cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, looking at the remaining letters next to him and the name of the sender written on the back.

“Bessie. You seemed to have quite an intense correspondence with this particular lady. Odd, given how you confirmed to me that you had no interest in them.”

His private affairs where no one’s concern but Robert’s own. However, he could recognise a peace offering when he saw it, even if it was offered in Doc’s own strange way.

“She was my betrothed.” The words were worth it just for the amount of utter confusion that entered Doc’s face.

“My mother was worried over my unmarried status,” Robert continued. “She introduced me to Bessie several years before I died. We quickly realised that both of our…sexual attractions lay solely with our own kind. As her parents had been harrying her to marry as well, we decided that it would be easiest for us to simply marry each other. She was, in many ways, my dearest friend.”

“Ah.” Doc paused for a moment before he continued. “Have you considered…finding her? If she’s still alive?”

“She is.” Robert swallowed. He’d had allowed himself this one moment of weakness, to satisfy his aching heart. If she had managed to find her happiness, if she had managed to survive, then his life had _meant_ something, beyond just his death. “Before you ask: she does not know that I am alive. She doesn’t need to.”

“Right. Because this woman does not _possibly_ deserve to know that a man she mourned and buried forty years ago, with presumably a number of things left unsaid, is now back amongst the living. You call me cruel, but this…” Doc shook his head. Robert felt the anger flare up inside him again, wrapping around him as comfortably as an old friend.

“It is none of your concern,” Robert said, biting off the words.

“You are right; it isn’t.” Doc carefully placed the bundle of letters on the table next to him. “What _is_ of my concern, however, is what we are planning on doing about Lou.”

“We cannot kill him.” Robert hated to admit it, but he was glad for the change in topic. He had been keeping Bessie’s existence to himself since he had woken up – she and the friendship they had shared did not deserve to be tainted by the company he currently kept.

“No. Do we know where Josiah Earp is?” Doc had done his homework, then. “He has to be of age at least, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” Robert nodded. “Wherever he currently is, it isn’t Purgatory. Although I have no doubt that we could devise a way to get Lou to him if necessary.”

“This would mean that he would return upon Josiah’s death, however,” Doc pointed out. “Not really a desirable outcome, in my opinion.”

“True.” Robert had to admit that he hadn’t quite considered this side of the problem yet. “Either way, there are enough ways to incapacitate him once we get hold of him. There has to be a way to break this curse.”

“Fair.” Doc inclined his head slightly. “That still leaves us with the question of how to trap him. I doubt the ruse that we used on the witch would work on him.”

“Decidedly not.” Robert grimaced. “He knows we’re working together. It won’t just be the shapeshifter he sends after us, but some of the other revenants as well.”

Doc frowned, but he didn’t dispute his words.

“We should choose where we want to make our stand, then.”

“Preferably not here. There are too many innocents around.” As loath as Robert was to give up the small safe haven that was his apartment, he couldn’t in good conscience lure a band of revenants and murderers here. And he had no doubt that they would step over the corpses of innocent bystanders to get to him.

“I assume this means my own abode is out of the running as well,” Doc said laconically. Robert noted well enough that this wasn’t an argument against what he’d said, however.

“It does,” he confirmed. “Perhaps there is a house out of the way somewhere, at the edge of the town, on the plains, or in the forest…”

“I am sure there is. But we have time until tomorrow at least to figure out the specifics.” Doc rose from his seat at the table. “They do not know that you live here, do they?”

“They don’t.” Robert’s gaze followed Doc as he moved towards the small kitchen that was part of his apartment. “What are you doing?”

“I figured you might be hungry when you woke up. Surely this…regenerating thing…takes a lot of energy?” Doc looked entirely nonplussed as he rummaged around in Robert’s kitchen and emerged not long after carrying a plate with some bread, cheese, and an apple.

“It does.” Robert sat up a little straighter, hissing in pain as the movement pulled at the still healing wounds on his chest. Doc handed him the plate and proceeded to sit down next to him, the mattress dipping towards his body. “Although food isn’t really necessary for us to survive.”

“A lot of things are not really of the utmost necessity to one’s survival.” Doc shrugged. “That does not mean they are unimportant.”

“Are you feeling guilty?” Robert asked innocently, tearing off a piece of bread. He hoped his stomach was healed enough to cope with it.

“Why?” Doc frowned. He still wasn’t moving from his seat, the warmth of his body tantalisingly close.

“Because you are being far too generous for a man who is currently the object of a deathly hunt. I have learned not to trust men who are generous for no reason.” Robert ate a piece of cheese, watching the expression on Doc’s face.

“Who is saying I do not have a reason?” Doc’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps I simply saw a gravely injured man who needed help. Although I have heard tales of my legendary selfishness, it does not mean that I am always out to save my hide alone. Besides…” he leaned in closer, so that his breath was ghosting along Robert’s skin, “as I see it, I have a far better chance at escaping Lou alive with you at my side.”

As much as Robert hated to admit it, Doc had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bessie is the /best/. I have so many headcanons for her <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhhh warnings for self-mutilation? Not like, in a bad way? But uhhhhh Doc being Doc, more willing to part with body parts than with guns, I guess. 
> 
> You will be rewarded with some soft sappiness from our two favourite idiots towards the end of the chapter :).

“So, this is where we are going to spend the next few days.” Doc dropped his bag onto the forest floor and surveyed the scene in front of him with a critical eye. His horse neighed and he patted it absent-mindedly.

Next to him, Robert slid out of the saddle, said a few soft words to his own steed and followed his gaze.

“Yes,” he said. The expression on his face was impossible to interpret, although Doc thought he could see traces of both smugness and trepidation.

“Well.” Doc squared his shoulders, picked up the bag and marched towards the small wooden house that sat at the edge of the forest clearing. “At least it has a solid-looking roof.”

“That’s all you can say about it?” Doc turned around to see a smile pulling at the edge of Robert’s lips. “’A solid-looking roof’?”

“It _is_ fairly solid-looking.” Doc cleared his throat. “The windows look like they need some cleaning. I assume that the levels of dust inside will rival that in the barn. Not even to speak about the state of the bed or any other possible furniture inside.”

“It is as far away from Lou and his shapeshifter as we can get,” Robert said, following him. “And will buy us at least a few days to prepare before they find us.”

“A few days is better than nothing.” Doc sighed. “Still, I would have preferred to spend my last days somewhere more comfortable.”

“Giving up already?” Robert teased him, good-naturedly. “Are you sure you are _the_ Doc Holliday?”

Doc only rolled his eyes in response, continuing doggedly towards the small house.

“I am not saying that I am _planning_ on dying within the next few days. Still, the possibility cannot be discounted.”

“Perhaps.” Robert sounded remarkedly relaxed. Doc knew that at least part of it was a show; he had _seen_ the fear in Robert’s eyes whenever he talked about Lou. The next days wouldn’t be easy and there was a decent chance that this would end in catastrophe. Even if, like Robert, you couldn’t die, there were far worse things that Lou would be able to do to him.

Doc had finally reached the door, but he had to wait for Robert to unlock it with his key before they could both enter. He was surprised when they finally stepped inside – there was a thick layer of dust on everything, like he had predicted, but there seemed to a be a decent amount of furniture still here, and all in much better condition under the dustcovers than he had imagined. He said as much after he had inspected several of the rooms. Robert had begun pulling off the sheets, creating clouds of dust that covered him in a fine grey layer. The image was as ridiculous as it was endearing.

“Does it meet with your approval then?” Robert didn’t look like a negative answer would have swayed his mind about staying here any.

“I hate to admit it, but it does.” Doc leaned against the doorframe at a safe distance from Robert and all the dust clouds, watching him slowly bring some order into their new home. It was an oddly domestic scene of the kind that Doc had never really experienced before, and he caught his thoughts straying in entirely unexpected directions. “There is only one problem, however,” he continued.

“Hm?” Robert was concentrating on folding up the sheets neatly, despite the fact that they would have to be washed first before they could be used for anything else.

“There appears to be only one bed.” Doc gestured towards the bedroom. “And before you voice out loud what you are thinking, it is a _single_ bed.”

“Well.” Robert was trying to clean his hands, but only succeeded in distributing the dust further on his arms and clothes. Eventually he gave up and just sighed. “There is a perfectly serviceable couch right here. And revenants do not require a large amount of sleep.”

“A true gentleman.” Doc felt a smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “Although we should, perhaps, aim to acquire another bed. Or a much larger one to replace the one in here at the moment.”

“If we are going to be here for this long.” Robert robbed his forehead, leaving grey smudges all over his skin. “For now, we should concentrate on more essential things, such as our survival.”

“Agreed.” Doc gestured towards the kitchen. “Perhaps we should eat and talk about our plans.”

“Are you offering to cook?” If Doc had learnt one thing over the last day, as Robert had bought the house in record time, it was that he was quite the tease, something that he would never have expected from the meek Robert Svane of the past. But then, there was a _lot_ that he wouldn’t have expected of Robert Svane.

“Difficult to do without a working stove and no wood in the house. But I do believe that we brought some provisions along, did we not?”

“We did.” As if they both didn’t know that they had. Considering the fact that revenants didn’t necessarily have to eat, Bobo always seemed to welcome their mealtimes nonetheless. It didn’t take them long to carry the belongings they had been able to take with them into the house. Robert was evidently still mourning the loss of his books, staring longingly at the set of shelves in the bedroom. Doc touched him lightly on the shoulder as he went past.

“You should be able to return to your apartment and your books soon enough,” he said. Robert just nodded before he turned around to join Doc in the joint kitchen and living room.

“We should visit the Blacksmith.” The comment came halfway through their meal, as Robert stared thoughtfully down at his food.

“A blacksmith? Why?” Doc frowned.

“Not a blacksmith. _The_ Blacksmith.” Robert turned a piece of jerky in his hands before he looked up at Doc. “She is like a witch, except that she deals in physical items of magic more than magic itself.”

“Hu.” Doc felt ever so slightly stupid that he had never even realised that the Blacksmith even existed. Of course, the witch could not have been the only one of her kind living here. “How do you think she might be able to help?”

“Oh, she wouldn’t help a revenant like me at all.” A grim smile crossed Robert’s face. “I found her early on, in the hopes of getting some advice on how to break the curse, and she killed me when I had barely gotten a word out. She wants nothing to do with us _demons_. An immortal gunslinger who is still human, however…”

“And what would you be doing whilst I visit this mysterious Blacksmith?” Doc looked down at the remnants of his meal and brought another cigarillo to his lips.

“Chopping some wood for the fireplace.” Robert shrugged. “And starting to prepare some surprises for our future guests.”

As much as Doc hated to admit it, Robert’s plan sounded entirely reasonable. They seemed to have fallen into the many different roles that a household required to run with remarkable ease, and Doc couldn’t deny that the thought of returning to a house where someone was already waiting for him filled him with a certain warmth.

“Well then.” He leaned back and took a drag from his cigarillo. “Where can I find this Blacksmith?”

*

Doc’s steps slowed as he approached the house across the field that Robert had pointed him towards. His eyes travelled back and forth, trying to discern whether there were any traps nearby or someone was just waiting to shoot him. He thought it was a safe bet to pre-emptively raise his hands in an effort to show that he wasn’t here to pose a threat. To his surprise, he was able to make it all the way to the heavy door without getting shot or otherwise assaulted.

“Hello?” He called out. “I am unarmed. I am here to talk to the Blacksmith.”

There was no answer, although Doc could hear wood creaking not far away.

“I carry no ill will towards you,” he repeated. “I am just here for some information.” After a few more moments of silence the door in front of him finally swung open. He stepped inside, stopping immediately once he was through the door. The smell of hot iron and the smoke curling from the remnants of a forge fire immediately filled his nostrils. His eyes took a moment to adjust themselves to the darkness, but the figure of the woman standing right in front of him with a loaded shotgun pointed at his chest was rather easy to see.

“You’re Doc Holliday.” The woman didn’t sound the least bit astonished. “I am surprised it took you this long to come here.”

“Well.” Doc shifted his stance slightly, hands still up in the air. “I am here now. If you could just lower your weapon…”

“Put yours aside first.” The shotgun didn’t waver a single inch. “History might have forgotten, but I have heard the stories about the _real_ Doc Holliday, not Wyatt Earp’s romanticised tales.”

Doc sighed. The Blacksmith wouldn’t change her stance, that much was clear. He took his gunbelt off with slow, exaggerated motions and dropped it to the floor next to his feet.

“Good. Go over there.” The Blacksmith nodded to a chair at the opposite wall. As far away as possible from his guns, Doc noted. He complied with another sigh, walking as slowly and non-threateningly as possible. He sat down, slouching slightly and crossing his legs.

“And now? Are you going to ask me to keep my hands in your line of sight at all times?”

“I should.” In contrast to her words, however, the Blacksmith lowered the shotgun and leaned against one of the large wooden beams holding up the ceiling. “What do you want?”

“Right to business then.” Doc nodded to himself. “There are several items on my list, actually. First – what do you know about shapeshifters?”

“Shapeshifters.” The Blacksmith frowned. Her gaze followed the black stripes across his eye before she nodded knowingly. “It depends on whether shapeshifting comes naturally to them or as the result of a curse.”

“A curse, I believe.” Of course, Doc wasn’t sure. However, he had the distinct feeling that Lou was exactly the kind of man who would ensnare a woman with false words and sweet gestures and then curse her to do his bidding.

“A curse always has a physical object it is tied to.” The Blacksmith inclined her head slightly. “Whoever is doing the cursing needs something from the person they want to curse – a lock of hair, blood, fingernails. It would be tied to a talisman of some sort, something that the one doing the cursing can wear at all times and activate at will.”

“An object.” Doc tried to remember what Lou had looked like, but he had only met the man twice and hadn’t particularly been focused on his appearance the second time. He made a mental note to ask Bobo, who seemed far more intimately acquainted with the man.

“Yes.” A shadow of amusement travelled over the Blacksmith’s lips. “This will be a far easier than I thought if all the items on your list are this quick to cross off.”

“I’m afraid the other two are more complicated.” Doc stretched his legs a little, wondering how he should approach the next question without giving too much away. But then, Bobo had mentioned that the Blacksmith was unlikely to seek out the presence of a revenant, much less pass on any information to them. “If I was looking for two locks or sets of chains that would incapacitate even the strongest, most magical being…would you have anything of the sort?”

“A magical lock.” The Blacksmith cast a demonstrative look around, indicating the numerous items displayed throughout her workshop. “Perhaps I do. However, everything in here comes at a price.”

“I have money-“ Doc was about to say, but the Blacksmith cut him off.

“Money is of very little value to me.” She gave an amused snort and leaned forward. “No, for mighty items such as this, I demand a far more personal price. One of your guns, for example.”

Doc’s gaze wandered over to where his gunbelt was still lying on the ground. “One of my _guns_?” These weapons had served him faithfully for decades, had sat at the bottom of the well with him for all these years and saved his life many times over. There was simply no way he would give them up. “No.”

“I’m afraid my price is not up for debate. You can leave now, if you so wish, but do not demand any more information or tokens from me.” The Blacksmith’s voice was cold, her hand wandering back to her shotgun again.

“I would rather part with a finger than one of my guns.” The words were out of Doc’s mouth before he could think about them properly, but as soon as he spoke them, he knew it was the truth.

“A finger.” The Blacksmith’s eyes lit up. “I wasn’t planning on asking such high payment from you, but if you offer…”

“One of my fingers. And you give me everything I need and swear not to hold anything back or pass any information or, indeed, the digit itself, or any part of it, on to anybody else.”

“I swear, I swear, I swear.” A promise thrice given, then. It was as good of an insurance that Doc was going to get. He took a deep breath, suddenly realising the magnitude of what he had been offering.

“If I do this,” he said quietly. “We will be more than even. _You_ will owe _me_ a favour.”

The Blacksmith cocked her head, but after a moment she nodded, pronouncing her oath three times once more. The next moments happened as if in a dream. Doc barely remembered taking his knife out and setting it on the knuckle in question, the Blacksmith at the ready next to him with a hot iron. All that stuck in his mind were the string of cursewords that fell from his mouth and a pain so sudden, so intense, that it robbed him of the ability to breathe.

The next thing he remembered were the Blacksmith’s fingers on his neck, cool and anchoring.

“Drink,” she said, her voice steady, and he did as he was told. It wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter. The potion or whatever it was that she had given him took a moment to take effect, but then he felt a soft tingling sensation spread through his body, lessening the pain until it had decreased to levels that were at least bearable again.

For a moment, Doc just sat on the floor and breathed.

“You should have just given me your gun. It would have been far easier.” The Blacksmith had picked up his finger from where it was still lying in a puddle of blood and wrapped it carefully in a clean cloth.

“I won’t part with them,” Doc said between clenched teeth, holding his hand. He had suddenly gained a whole new amount of respect for Robert for being more intimately acquainted with this kind of pain.

“That much is evident, yes.” The Blacksmith just rolled her eyes at him, lifting the finger in her hand. “Wait here. I will gather what you need.”

Doc was only too happy to follow her suggestion. He followed her with his gaze and concentrated on slowing down his breathing and the hammering of his heart as she walked around the forge and took several items off some shelves and hooks. She tinkered with them for a while at her worktable before handing them over to him – chains, mostly, plus two large and sturdy locks, as well as a small bottle of the same liquid she had just given him.

“Attached to these chains, these locks will hold anything, no matter how strong. They cannot be broken by any magical or physical means, nor by the passing of time. Consider the tonic a bonus, for your unexpectedly generous gift.”

“Good.” Doc nodded his thanks and slowly staggered to his feet again. Whatever the potion was that the Blacksmith had given him, it still seemed to work – it hurt, yes, but the pain wasn’t so blinding anymore that he couldn’t do anything else. “Thank you, Blacksmith.”

He hesitated before making a grab for his gunbelt and leaving, turning around to her once more.

“If one would want to break the Earp curse…” His voice trailed off and he frowned. He wasn’t used to asking favours on somebody else’s behalf.

“It cannot be done.” The Blacksmith shook her head, although she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “You would have to kill the one who cast it.”

“Hm.” Doc wondered if he should pry further, find out what she really knew, but he wasn’t in any state to win if it came to a fight. And they had more immediate problems to deal with, anyway.

*

Doc was more than grateful that he was so adept at riding a horse. The mare didn’t mind that he was steering with one hand and his legs only and carried him safely back to the small house he was sharing with Bobo. By the time he returned the last light of the day was falling through the trees, painting everything with a sheen of gold.

Doc stabled and cared for his horse. He was about to return to the front side when something caught his eye and he frowned. Next to the stable was a woodcutting block, together with a number of wooden pieces. An axe lay on the ground amongst the pieces, as if dropped haphazardly and in the middle of chopping. What raised the hair on Doc’s neck, however, was the dark sheen of blood on the axe and the large spots soaking the earth next to it.

It didn’t take a single conscious moment of thought for Doc to reach for his guns, despite his finger giving a warning pang of pain. The strength of the surge of anxiety inside him, immediately accompanied by anger, surprised him – logically, he knew that Robert couldn’t die. However, there were always worse fates for a revenant. What if Lou had already found them when he was gone? What if…

Doc shook his head and tried to focus on the situation at hand. Since when was he so concerned about Robert anyway? They would part ways once this was over, and that was that.

Nonetheless, he made his way inside the house quietly and carefully, listening for any strangers that might attack him, or the slow breathing of the shapeshifter nearby. There were more flecks of brown blood on the floor, fuelling the worry inside his stomach. All he could hear, however, was the sound of the fire burning in their living room. He crept around the corner, guns at the ready and held his breath when he saw the shadow of a man in the doorframe, flickering from the light of the fire. Doc was about to jump out and put a pistol to the man’s neck when he heard a familiar sigh and the soft clinking of a teapot being lifted off the flames.

“Bobo?” Doc straightened back up into a standing position. Robert turned around from where he had been about to pour himself some hot water for tea and smiled. And wasn’t that a sight – it had been a long time since anyone’s first, unconscious reaction upon seeing Doc had been to smile, once they were familiar with him.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Robert said. “Tea?”

Doc’s gaze, however, had immediately travelled down to Robert’s leg where large patches of blood had dried on his pants and he seemed to be limping.

“You’re hurt.” Doc frowned. “Was it Lou? Are he and the revenants still around? Did he-“

“Oh, that.” Robert fluttered his hand dismissively. “No, Lou had nothing to do with it. The axe slipped as I was cutting wood earlier, nearly severed my own leg there.”

It was only now that he seemed to notice Doc’s missing finger, his face immediately clouding with a worried frown of his own. He set the teapot aside and limped over, crossing the distance between.

“What happened to your finger? Did you forget that only revenants can regrow their body parts?”

“I cut it off.” Saying it loud, it did sound a lot more stupid than the idea had seemed to him at first.

“You-” Doc had the rare opportunity to see Robert completely at a loss, face going slack with utter shock.

“The Blacksmith demanded a payment for her services. I was unwilling to part with either of my guns, therefore…”

“…you cut off your own finger.” Robert finished the sentence for him, shaking his head. “John Henry, what on earth were you thinking? Giving the Blacksmith your flesh and blood? She could curse you ten different ways before the sun was down, and you would be powerless.”

“I have ten fingers. And only two guns.” Doc shrugged. Robert just stared at him in abject horror for a moment.

“You could _buy_ a new gun,” he finally pointed out. “I doubt you can buy a new finger.”

“Not _these_ guns.” Doc was aghast that Robert would even suggest such a thing. But then, if you were unable to die and could move metal with your mind, you would likely be slightly less dependent on the skill and protection afforded by guns such as his own.

Robert just sighed.

“At least let me look after your wound?” he asked, already limping to where they had put their supplies earlier.

“If it will make you feel better,” Doc shrugged. The Blacksmith’s potion was slowly wearing off and he was beginning to feel the effects of the wound again. Robert just rolled his eyes and pointedly motioned towards the sofa close to the fire.

Despite his annoyance, the motions with which he took care of him and wrapped his stump in bandages were gentle and careful.

“How is your leg?” Doc asked, as much to distract himself from the pounding in his hand as to distract Robert from his incessant worrying.

“Almost healed.” Robert gave it an experimental turn, wriggling his foot back and forth. “Unlike _some_ , my wounds heal themselves quickly.”

“…which is no reason not to be careful, however.” Doc raised his eyebrow with a meaningful grin. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“It would be more convincing if it didn’t come from a man who just voluntarily cut off one of his fingers,” Robert shot back.

“I had very good reasons.” Doc pointed at the bag on the floor that contained the chains and locks the Blacksmith had given him. “And the sacrifice of a finger is a worth price to pay to rid us of the shapeshifter and Lou forever.”

Robert made a soft noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a snort. He lowered himself onto the sofa next to Doc, stretching out his injured leg with a pained little groan. Their shoulders touched and for once, Robert didn’t move away. His entire body went rigid at the bodily contact for no more than a moment before he relaxed again.

“We make quite the pair,” he remarked quietly after a moment, looking from his leg to Doc’s missing finger. Doc huffed.

“A demon who does not want to be a demon and an immortal who would rather lose a finger than his guns,” he mused. “Certainly not the material for your average romantic novel.”

“Is that what we are? A romance?” Robert had gone still beside him but wasn’t moving away.

“We are whatever we want to be.” Doc dug out a cigarillo and lit it. Robert only laughed softly.

“If only that were true.” He looked down at his hands, and then his legs. Doc took a drag from his cigarillo and shifted slightly so that he was watching Robert.

“If you could choose.” He frowned, slightly rephrasing the question in his mind. “If the curse had never happened. If you had never met Wyatt. Who would you want to be? If you could be anyone?”

Robert didn’t dismiss or ridicule the question. Instead, he stared into the fire, his brow creased in though as he mulled over his answer a while before speaking.

“A writer, I guess,” he finally said. A quick smile travelled over his face, quirking up the edges of his lips. His skin glowed with the soft warmth of the fire and Doc had to suppress the desire to touch his cheek and trace the line of his chin with his thumb. “Bessie and I always joked that I would be the one most likely to stay at home, tend to household and garden, and write about every single plant in the backyard or the shape of the clouds in the sky. She was always far more practical than me. You?”

Once more, Doc felt a sharp desire to seek out Wyatt’s grave just so that he could dig him up, revive him and kill him all over again. It wouldn’t change the injustice that had been done to Robert Svane, but at least it would make feel him better.

“I do not know”, he answered honestly. “If I hadn’t actively been dying…I guess I would have carried on as I did. Drinking, gambling, shooting. Following Wyatt around, keep him from getting himself killed.” He sighed. “It does not sound all that enticing, does it?”

Robert shrugged slightly. “To me? No. But then, I don’t think that writing pages upon pages describing the growth habits of prairie grass would be particularly endearing to you, either.”

“Hmm.” Doc laughed quietly. “Although I do not think I would mind a life away from killing people for a while. There are other ways to keep my shooting skills sharp, after all.”

“There certainly are.” Robert turned around to look at him, their gazes meeting. There was a not-at-all innocent twinkle in his eyes as his hand very deliberately moved over onto Doc’s leg. “There is more than one skill of yours that shouldn’t have to go to waste.”

A thrill surged through Doc’s body at the words. Robert had never seemed the type to make the first move, making this an all-the-more welcome surprise. It gave him something to concentrate on that wasn’t the incessant pounding in his missing finger. His hand moved around Robert’s neck and buried itself in his air, pulling him close. Doc could taste the heat of the fire on Robert’s lips, felt it suffusing the skin under his touch. The kiss was softer than it had any right to be, a kiss that took the time and space to explore and left room to learn. A kiss that said _I want to be with you_ , rather than just _I want you,_ even if either of them weren’t fully ready to acknowledge it yet.

“For what it is worth,” Doc said quietly, when they separated again, “whilst I would not write about it, I would _listen_ to you describe me the growth habits of prairie grass any day of the week.”

“Then you should prepare yourself for some _excellent_ lectures.” Robert smiled and leaned forward to kiss him again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, my deepest apologies that I had to break my rhythm at the end. Real life happened a LOT in the past few months, plus I have to admit that I was incredibly disappointed with the newest Wynonna Earp season and it killed that vast majority of my fic writing motivation, sadly! I do endeavor never to leave a fic unfinished, however, so here's chapter 7! There will be one more after this to round things out, I think - there are a few scenes that I really wanted to write.

“This was a terrible idea.”

Robert woke up to hear Doc groaning from where he lay on top of him, trying to wriggle into a more comfortable position without using his wounded hand. At some point he just gave up and half-fell, half-slid off the sofa and Robert’s body by extension. He grunted when he hit the floor, not moving for a moment with his eyes closed.

“A _terrible_ idea,” he repeated.

“You seemed quite enthused last night.” Robert sat up and looked down at Doc, openly appreciating the impossibly lean lines of his body. “In fact, I can distinctly recall you asking for more.”

“I did not mean to offend your sense of sexual accomplishment.” Doc rolled his eyes and groaned again. “I mean the distraction. We could well have been caught unawares by Lou and his followers. From now on at least one of us should be keeping watch.”

“If you think so.” Robert wasn’t about to contradict Doc in a matter that the gunslinger had far more experience in than him, although he was personally convinced that any sort of lookout would prove utterly useless against the shapeshifter at least. If she didn’t want to be heard or seen, then she wouldn’t be. “I believe it is far more pertinent that we get to setting up the traps we were talking about.”

“On that, we can both agree.” Doc finally rose into a crouch and then stood up, wobbling only slightly. He hissed quietly and held his wounded hand, a flash of pain etching deep lines into his face. Robert watched as he walked around the room until he found the flask he had brought back the previous day, drinking some of it with a frown on his face. Whatever the tonic was, it seemed to alleviate the pain better than anything else could have done. Robert made no effort to move his own body, content for now to simply watch Doc walking around the house in all of his naked glory. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Stop staring!” Doc yelled at him on his way to the bathroom. Robert just laughed.

“I thought your sense of shame was almost nonexistent,” he said, with a grain on his face. Doc’s head popped back out of the bathroom door.

“It’s not that,” he confirmed. “But we are wasting valuable time whilst you just sit there and admire my naked buttocks. Lou and his cronies could be here any moment.”

“Since when are you so practical?” Robert asked, but he did finally rise from his seat.

“Since the last time that they could have easily killed me?” Doc shot back. Robert just sighed in response. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sharing Doc’s trepidation towards the situation, but something inside had finally begun to settle since they had arrived at his small house. It was as if a few pieces inside him had slowly started to grow back together, and only now did he notice that they had been broken in the first place.

“There is a plot of land outside that would be perfectly suited to be converted into a vegetable patch,” Robert said, raising his hand when Doc wanted to interject. “It seems as good spot as any for the final confrontation.”

“Good,” Doc nodded. “Then, perhaps, we should get started as quickly as possible.”

In all fairness, both of them were quick to begin their work once they had completed their respective morning routines and eaten breakfast. It took them the better part of the day to arrange things to their satisfaction, and much to both of their surprise, they had no visitors throughout it. It was with only a faint regret that Robert agreed that someone had to stand watch at night – the last thing they needed was for them to be caught unawares.

It was on Robert’s watch that he finally appeared. It was a moonless night, still warm, but with a first hint of autumn chill in the air. Robert had taken turns between watching and listening, flinching just ever so slightly at the sight of every forest creature that rustled through the underbrush or raced across the clearing. Doc was sleeping on the other side of the open doorway, occasional snores doing nothing but setting Robert’s nerves even more on edge.

Lou, the shapeshifter, and his revenants had evidently planned a quiet approach under the cover of the darkest hours of the night. It would have worked, if it weren’t for the careful plans Robert and Doc had laid out. Robert saw a small movement at the edge of the clearing that they had marked with several torches. At the same moment, a scream went up in the air as one of their traps found its first victim. Robert turned, took one step inside their house and emptied a pitcher of water directly over Doc’s body.

“They are here,” he said calmly as Doc jerked upright, flailing and sputtering.

It took Doc a moment to compose himself, but even without conscious thought, his hands were already travelling to the gunbelt on his hips, checking the seat of his revolvers. It was at that moment that Bobo heard the sound that scared him most of all – the breaking of the underbrush as a large shape moved through it, a low growl deep in its throat.

“She’s here. You should run.” There was no need to say anything else. Doc met his gaze for a mere second, giving him a small nod. Then he picked up a torch, stepped out beside him and began to race around to the house’s other side. Robert was sure he would remember the spark of fear in his eyes until the end of his life. No doubt it mirrored his own.

There was a roar in the air as the shapeshifter picked up the scent of its prey, the shadows at the edge of the clearing coalescing into the shape of a large bear. It covered the space towards Robert in the space of a few thoughts, and for one terrifying moment Robert was sure that he would be ripped apart right then and there. However, it rushed past him, intent on the smell of the person that it had been tasked to hunt. Robert could only hope that Doc was able to run fast enough.

Lou sauntered onto the clearing as if he had all the time in the world. Four revenants were with him – Bobo was sure that he recognised at last two of them from the last time he had been killed by Lou. He bared his teeth, fingers closing more tightly around the musket that had been leaning against the wall next to him.

“So, this is where you and your…” a sneer crossed Lou’s face, “ _partner_ have absconded to, Robert. Did you really think you could hide here forever? Play at a peaceful life? You should know that charades like this never last long. How pitiful. And here I thought you actually had some potential…”

“I am sorry to disappoint,” Robert replied evenly. “And no, no we weren’t hiding.”

He flicked his fingers, finally releasing the two metal bolts that had been holding the two quickly built traps closed. A pair of screams sounded through the air as two of the revenants flanking Lou suddenly vanished through the ground, their screams cut short when they met with the spikes at the bottom of the pits. Lou’s expression faltered for just a moment, but it was obvious enough to make Robert sneer.

However, Lou regained his composure quickly enough, lifting the trusty crossbow he had bought with him. Robert narrowed his eyes, extending his senses towards the nails he had scatted on the ground earlier. A conscious effort and a twitch of his fingers later, and the nails shot through the air, fast enough to confuse even the quickest revenant for a few precious seconds. Lou fired, but the shot went wide as he tried to evade the nails in the same move.

Unfortunately, all three revenants facing Robert were faced enough to shield their faces and avoid the worst of damage. One of Lou’s companions got lucky with his own crossbow (and wasn’t this something to think about – that Lou had enough wooden crossbows to procure at short notice in the specific event that a revenant with control over metal betrayed him), the bolt sinking into Robert’s shoulder.

Robert stumbled back with an angry shout. It _hurt_ , but that was all for now – and all of them had been dealt far more pain in hell than they could experience on earth. He raised his shotgun, catching one of the revenants square in the chest with the shot. Even as it sounded out, he reached out with one hand and concentrated – and just in time, as Lou had almost finished reloading his crossbow. The small metal parts inside creaked before they crumpled, rendering the weapon unusable. Lou threw the crossbow aside with a grunt and launched himself at Robert. There was no time to disable the second crossbow, as Robert had to use all his concentration to duck out of the way of Lou’s incoming punch.

Robert Svane had never been a brawler. However, he had learned how to defend himself well enough over these past few months, and Lou had never been a friend of direct confrontations, preferring to delegate the dirty work to his fellow revenants instead, or to weaken his opponent beforehand. Lou swung at him, teeth bared in a snarl, and Robert ducked aside to avoid the punch. In a fair fight, Lou might have even had a chance. However, Robert had no intention of fighting fair _or_ clean.

His knee came up to hit Lou squarely on the groin, and Lou doubled over with a sharp exhale. Robert followed up, going for the man’s eyes, the man’s throat, any vulnerable point he could possibly think of. He had to make this quick and keep moving, before the other two revenants would have time to properly reload, aim and fire a more lethal shot at him. Lou’s hands grabbed blindly at him and, by some unlucky coincidence, found purchase on the crossbow bolt that was still protruding from Robert’s shoulder. Lou wrenched at the piece of wood and Robert’s knees buckled from the sheer onslaught of agony. The moment of inaction was enough for one of the remaining revenants to aim and send another bolt into Robert’s back, at the same time that Lou’s fist collided with his stomach. Robert collapsed with a shout, blindly reaching out to any metal in the vicinity and _pulling_.

He seemed to have some success at least – there was a pair of surprised yells, and something tumbling to the floor before Lou was on him. Lou’s eyes were bright red, smouldering with deathly rage as he let out a scream and began punching him. Robert tried to evade his hands, but one of Lou’s punches connected and dazed him for a moment, long enough for Lou to wrap his hands around his throat and begin squeezing. Robert resisted as well as he was able to, twisting and turning, kicking out with his legs in the vain hopes of hitting the man. At least one of his kicks connected and Lou spat out a curse, but he didn’t loosen his grip. The edges of Robert’s vision began to darken, a thin voice of panic screeching in the back of his head. They were so _close_. So close to being able to determine what they were going to do with their lives. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his immortal existence as Lou’s punching bag. It couldn’t end like this. It couldn’t.

Robert closed his eyes and began to feel for metal around him. Some nails from earlier, a belt buckle, _anything_ that he could use to make a difference before the lack of air would render him unconscious. All he could feel, however, was the faint echo of two nails in the long grass. Not enough to do significant damage to Lou. Not enough. Robert could feel his movements weakening, strength flooding out of him with the last of his breath and the blood from his wound.

If at least this death was forever, it might have been easier to swallow.

Several gunshots sounded out in rapid succession. Lou’s body tensed, before all the energy suddenly left him and he flopped down on top of Bobo, motionless. The grip of his hands relaxed, and Robert drew in a deep breath, stars flooding his vision as the air slowly returned to his lungs. There was a grunt and another two gunshots sounded out, before Robert heard steps coming his way. He tensed, but his instincts already told him who it was.

“Doc?” he called out. Or tried to. It was more of a whisper that forced its way through his mutilated throat.

“Bobo.” Doc dropped down into a crouch next to him, beginning to pull Lou’s lifeless body off his chest. He shook his head, making a soft tsk-ing noise. “As soon as I leave you alone for but a few minutes, you almost get yourself killed again.”

Robert wheezed gratefully when Lou’s weight was off him. He rolled around and, with a pained grunt, pulled the crossbow bolt out of his shoulder and, with Doc’s help, the other out of his back. Doc’s eyes travelled over his body, taking in his bloody and beaten form, making sure that he wasn’t in immediate danger of dying anymore. When the outcome was to his satisfaction, he sighed and began to move Lou’s body.

“We need to get them all secured before they wake up again,” he said. Robert nodded. He gave himself a few more seconds before he clambered to his feet and began to help Doc. The revenants wouldn’t stay dead for long. They tied up Lou’s companions with as much rope as they had. Lou himself was already waking up and groaning by the time they were done, and Robert frowned.

“The necklace,” he said, suddenly remembering. Doc sucked the air in through his teeth and whirled around. A quick swing of his knife and Lou fell back again, unmoving, as the blood from his throat pooled on the floor. Robert only raised an eyebrow. Doc shrugged.

He removed the necklace from Lou’s body, holding it up and frowning. The moment it left Lou’s skin, a whisper seemed to travel through the air, like a soft sigh that made Robert’s skin tingle. Something shifted, and it felt like something invisible had slotted back into place again, something they weren’t even aware had been missing. Looking at Doc, his feelings were confirmed – the mark on his face was gone.

They exchanged a gaze and, together, dragged Lou back into the forest. It was only a short distance along the path that Doc had run off on earlier before they arrived at the large hole they had dug in the ground, the Blacksmith’s locks securing the trap door’s entrance. Inside was no longer the raging bear from earlier, but a woman, far too young to have seen any of the terrible things that had happened to her, a coat made from a bearpelt slung around her shoulders. Robert moved forward and held out the necklace.

“Is this what he used to curse you?” he asked. The young woman looked at him, no doubt remembering his face from the times he had spent with Lou. Her gaze travelled to her husband’s temporary corpse and back to Robert. She nodded.

“Then I believe this is yours to do with as you wish.” Robert dropped the necklace into the hole and, in the same movement, began opening the lock that held the door to it closed. The woman caught it and exhaled with a deep sigh, her body suddenly relaxing. It didn’t take long for her to clamber out once the door was open. She nodded at both of them before vanishing onto the path back towards the house.

Without having to exchange any spoken words, Robert and Doc grabbed hold of Lou’s corpse, and rather unceremoniously dumped it into the hole and the cage they had built inside. Robert was the one to turn the key in the Blacksmith’s magic lock. The sound of it was utterly satisfying, like a bath of hot water after the end of a long day.

“And the lock and chains will stay secure, no matter the time that passes?” Robert asked again.

“The Blacksmith guaranteed it. I dare say that we can trust her.” Doc wriggled his hand. “Also, I would be rather disappointed to find out that I gave so much for nothing.” The wrath of Doc Holliday was indeed not something you brought onto yourself lightly.

“Good.” Robert nodded. “We should probably cover it at some point. Make sure that he stays in there until we can figure out the curse and all that.” Doc seemed to agree with him, inclining his head back towards the house.

“We should see what the others are doing.”

The ‘others’, they found to their surprise, were currently white in their faces and shivering with fear. This, Robert mused with some surprise, was probably due to the giant bear sitting in front of them, growling and baring its teeth as soon as they moved so much as a finger. The bear shimmered back into the form of the young woman who regarded the revenants in front of her with icy eyes.

“Do not ever presume to come back here,” she hissed as soon as they had walked within earshot of her. “If you, or any of your ilk, ever set foot within this part of the forest again, I _will_ find you. Unless these two kill you first, of course.” She nodded over at Robert and Doc. Then her outline blurred, until the bear had was in her place again. With one last low grunt and a look back towards the cottage and the two men standing in front of it, she disappeared into the forest.

Robert and Doc exchanged a glance before they stepped towards the remaining revenants.

“You heard her.” Doc said, hunkering down in front of them, the knife still flecked with Lou’s blood in his hand. Robert had to do nothing but stand back and stare at them. Anyone with an ounce of wisdom knew who to be truly afraid of in this situation. “If you or any other revenants, or even any mortal scions you might find, ever return to this place or intend to harm either of us in any way, you will wake up wishing very much that you hadn’t. Do not return here. Or you might share the same fate as your friend Lou back there.”

He bared his teeth in an expression that had nothing at all do with a friendly smile, and Robert had no doubt that it would have its intended effect. After cutting them loose, they watched the revenants scamper away, back into the forest, casting fearful glances back at them and their little house.

“’Do not return here’?” Robert asked, with a small amused smile as soon as Doc turned to look back at him. “And here I thought you weren’t planning on staying in this cottage.”

“Well.” Doc grinned, wiping the knife on his pants to remove the blood on it. “People change. And it _does_ have a rather perfect spot for a garden.”


End file.
